


Shadow of the Wolf

by theatricalbutbashful



Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: 80s, Detective Noir, Detectives, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fables - Freeform, Fairytale characters - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, I'm Bad At Tagging, Minor Canon Deviations, Murder Mystery, Novelization, POV Third Person, Who Dunnit, fabletown - Freeform, glamours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 144,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theatricalbutbashful/pseuds/theatricalbutbashful
Summary: As sheriff of Fabletown, Bigby Wolf has done his best to leave his past where it belongs. Few Fables are willing to forgive the dark history of the Big Bad Wolf and even fewer are able to forget. But when one of Fabletown's citizens is murdered and left at Bigby's doorstep, the sheriff is thrown into an investigation that threatens to topple the very foundation on which the community was founded. Struggling to control his own nature, Bigby must stop criminals who believe themselves above the law before anyone else gets caught up in their twisted web.
Relationships: Snow White/Bigby Wolf
Comments: 20
Kudos: 74





	1. Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This is a novelization of the amazing video game! I haven't read the comics, but I did some research to make sure I didn't get things abjectly wrong and also to learn a little bit more about their histories! That being said, I'm sure I missed some things, so, true fans, I'm very sorry! There are some minor/possibly major (?) canon deviations from the game to keep things fresh (and also to fit the narrative). I hope you all like it!! :) I'm so excited to share this!!!!!!!!

The radio crackled to life in the small cab. Sheriff Bigby Wolf rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window at buildings as they flew by. Bigby didn’t realize it, but he had a somewhat soulful look in his eyes, something that made him look almost lost in the big city. Perhaps he was without even knowing. New York sure as hell was a far cry from the Black Forest.

Rather than dwell on the thought, Bigby distracted himself with the route his cab driver was taking to the South Bronx. It was certainly a roundabout way to get there. Though they were both Fables, neither Bigby nor the driver felt the need for idle chatter. Honestly, Bigby was relieved. He didn’t like talking to people any more than they seemed to like talking to him. 

Bigby closed his eyes after a moment. He was doing his best to block out the nasally, irritating voices of the talk-radio station the cab driver was listening to. Like there was nothing else of any interest to discuss, the hosts were droning on about the summer's record-breaking humidity.

General consensus: It was hot.

The sleeves of Bigby’s white button-down were rolled up over his elbows in his usual style. His black tie hung casually around his neck, but he felt like loosening it even more in the draining heat. Though it was well past sundown, the air was thick and soupy. The cab’s air-conditioning didn’t appear to be working, but the sheriff didn’t make an effort to anything more than crack his window a little. Hot wind burst through the gap eagerly, but the relief it provided was minimal at best.

A few locks of Bigby’s long brown hair fell into his eyes, and he swept them back into place absentmindedly. He ran a hand over his eyes, sighing quietly. He hadn’t slept very well the night before, and he’d stayed late in his office to wrap up a seemingly endless pile of paperwork. Just when he’d decided to call it for the night, he’d gotten a call from Mr. Toad. He had requested—no, _demanded_ Bigby’s presence at his apartment building. Bigby didn’t have a good reason to refuse, though he was used to Toad’s kind of calls. Over the course of that week alone, Toad had already called him out on three separate occasions. He’d declared each one an emergency, but Bigby had arrived on each occasion to discover a neighbor watching a horror film too loudly, a mangy cat howling in the alley for reasons unrelated to pain, and kids who had egged the apartment's entrance out of evident boredom.

Tonight, though, Bigby had a pretty good idea what had prompted Toad’s call, and he didn’t look forward to dealing with it.

He returned his gaze to the window, his eyes flicking disinterestedly across doors and windows along his route. That lost look returned as his thoughts grew ever more distant.

Though it was after midnight, many apartments were still lit up in one corner or another. People were still shuffling down the streets or standing idly in alleys, but Bigby saw past and through them, his eyes growing further away the longer the drive took.

In the fingers of his left hand, Bigby was playing with a cigarette, spinning it slowly and restlessly against his leg. It was his usual brand, the same Huff ‘n Puffs that everyone else scoffed at. In their defense, it was a truly awful and cheap brand. Bigby couldn’t say he necessarily _liked_ it so much as _relied_ on it. His senses were unusually acute for a Fable, not to mention a wolf, but his sense of smell was the most problematic. Though he didn’t like to admit it, the scents of the city were overwhelming and distracting more often than not. Huff ‘n Puffs were just terrible enough to block most of it out, usually.

Despite seeming disinclined to light up, the driver grimaced when he saw Bigby’s absentminded motion. “Rather if you didn’t smoke in here,” he said, glancing pointedly—but unnecessarily—at the cigarette.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” the sheriff replied. His voice was a little gruff from a lack of use, and he imagined it came off as disgruntled. He didn’t bother trying to fix it.

“Good,” the driver retorted simply. “I like my lungs.”

Bigby didn’t acknowledge the half-hearted joke. He’d already had a long day, and it was about to get a hell of a lot longer. When he’d spoken to Toad on the phone, Bigby hadn’t even needed to clarify who or what the problem was. Toad was never forthcoming with those answers, but even if he was, Bigby wouldn’t have asked. There was only one tenant at Toad’s apartment building that was a regular disturbance during prolonged, drunken stupors. When Bigby had hung up, he’d sighed heavily, grabbed his cigarettes and keys, and walked out the door. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't even sure he’d placed the phone back on the hook before leaving.

The car pulled to a sharp, jolting stop that Snow had once playfully dubbed a “New York stop.” Bigby knew why the phrase had stuck with him, and he sighed quietly to himself when he paid the driver and stepped out onto the curb.

The sheriff glanced up at the building opposite him as the cab took off. Many lights were still on, but it was the third-floor window above the entrance that held Bigby’s attention. As if on cue, a large figure stormed past the blinds, waving one hand wildly. The silhouette struck a massive enough figure that most would have been intimidated, but despite his best efforts to the contrary, the Woodsman had never been a serious concern or threat to Bigby. A near-constant source of migraines and irritation but seldom more than an annoyance.

As the sheriff watched, Woody threw something across the room—a bottle, most likely. Bigby released another long, heavy sigh and finally lit his cigarette. The relief it provided was nearly immediate as dozens of smells from one small street alone were replaced with a single, admittedly unpleasant, scent.

Bigby glanced down the road, pleased to see that the street was at least deserted for now. Woody’s explosions were rarely quiet, and, while the warding spells around Fabletown made sure few mundies ever cared to venture very far into the magical community, Toad and Woody’s apartment building was well outside the Upper West Side. One of the more pressing functions of Bigby’s job was ensuring Fable disputes never went far enough to attract mundy attention, and Woody was more often than not one of the few that made it difficult. 

The sheriff passed by a yellow cab parked near the entrance and climbed the few steps to the front doors.

If the building looked like shit on the outside, it was somehow even worse on the inside. The checkered black-and-white flooring in the main lobby was marred with muddy boot prints and several stains which Bigby determined were a colorful myriad of bodily fluids. Thick, tied-off trash bags were heaped in one corner of the wide, square entrance. Bigby could smell them even past his cigarette, but he didn’t need the scent to know they’d been there for a long time. He couldn’t recall a single time he’d arrived to find an empty hall. The mailboxes lined under the large set of stairs were the only things in the hall even in semi-working order, and even then, several were missing doors and a couple on the ground floor each had massive, rat-sized holes leading into the walls. A few light fixtures on the walls were broken, and the lighting the others provided was dim at best.

Bigby closed the door behind him, noting that the other door was still boarded up. He couldn’t remember precisely when or why it had been broken, but he’d been called out for that too, years ago. Seemed Mr. Toad wasn’t too keen on his landlord duties.

As soon as Bigby turned around again, he saw who—or rather what—had called him, and he released a quiet sigh. Toad was standing at the end of the stairs, leaning around the banister as if to determine the extent of the damage upstairs.

Toad's name wasn’t just a moniker. The creature across from Bigby was a three-foot-tall, green-skinned, webbed-footed amphibian wearing a dirty white tank top, a long tan cardigan, and a pair of gray sweatpants tucked into extra small slippers.

“Mr. Toad,” Bigby grumbled in greeting.

“Shit,” the toad muttered. “Bigby!” he added more animatedly as he turned around. He offered the sheriff a chummy smile, but as soon as Bigby raised an eyebrow, Toad held up his hands in surrender. “Listen, mate, I know I don’t look ‘uman…” Bigby took another long drag, lazily watching the amphibian try to explain himself. “I-it’s a problem, I get it,” the toad allowed, “but I just stepped out of me apartment for just a _second_ to see what kind’a damage this drunk shit is doin’ to me buildin’!”

Bigby continued smoking quietly.

Toad’s expression became imploring in the silence. “Just cut me a break, yeah? I’ll get me glamour _first thing_ in the mornin’. Cross me ‘eart ‘n everythin’.”

Bigby shook his head, leaning against the door frame beside him. He took another silent puff as he considered the waiting creature. When he finally spoke, his normally gruff, dry tone had a sarcastic edge. “I’m lookin’ at a three-foot toad. In a sweater. That’s a problem. If you can’t afford to look human,” he continued, his voice growing fatigued, “you’re going to the Farm. It’s as simple as that. I’m tired of giving you warnings, Toad.”

The amphibian thrust his webbed hands deep into his sweater pockets. He gave Bigby a faintly pleading look with iridescent eyes that stood atop his head. “You can’t send me to live with those animals, Bigby, _c’mon_.”

Bigby frowned at him pointedly.

“You know wha’ I mean!” Toad snapped with a grimace.

“Go see a witch,” the sheriff repeated slowly. “Get a glamour.”

Toad scoffed. “Bigby, they’re bleedin’ me _dry_ , mate. The quality of the spell goes down, but the rates keep climbin’ up! D’you have _any idea_ ’ow much it costs to ’ave an entire family in glamour?!”

“Nope,” the sheriff replied indifferently. “I don’t, and _you_ know that’s not an excuse. Glamour is a necessity, Toad. Either you can afford it, or you go to the Farm. If I have to tell you again—” Something crashed upstairs. The sound vibrated down the walls to the first floor. Bigby sighed and took another long drag. “Look, Toad,” he said in a less gruff tone, “I don’t make the rules, alright? See a witch. Get a glamour. I see you like this again, I’m taking you to the Farm. It’s as simple as that. I can’t give you a free pass on this, Toad, and I’ve given you more than enough warnings. My hands are tied.”

Toad let out a long breath, recognizing the truth of the matter. “Yeah, I know, I know, Bigby,” he muttered.

“There’s much too much at stake. Whatever it costs, it’s worth it.” Bigby let a firm edge steal back into his voice, wary of sounding lenient. “You _don’t_ want me catching you out of glamour again. Understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, Bigby,” Toad sighed, “I hear ya, I hear—”

Another loud crash—this one accompanied with the sound of glass shattering—made Toad cringe. Something solid smashed heavily against the sidewalk outside, and Toad’s face fell when he looked past the sheriff. He raised his webbed hands to the back of his head in distress. Judging from the distinct sound, Bigby guessed it was probably a television, and he glanced back casually to confirm it.

“Feckin’ ‘ell!” Toad exclaimed in a shrill voice. “See! This is what I called you about, Sheriff! Don’t jus’ stand there! _Do somethin’_ , Bigby, ‘fore he tears me ‘ole place down!”

Bigby released another signature sigh and threw his cigarette down to the dirty floor. He stamped it out carelessly with his shoe and moved slowly towards the stairs.

“Take your bloody feckin’ time, then, why don’t you,” Toad muttered under his breath.

Bigby made it up a few steps before another crash shook the walls. “Know what set him off this time?” he wondered casually as he paused.

Toad made a face. “Who knows what it bloody was,” he mumbled. “Man’s got an ‘air trigger if I’ve ever seen one. I avoid ‘im much as possible.”

“When’d he start drinking?”

Toad snorted. “You’re assumin’ 'e ever stopped. I think—”

There was a quieter thump—something soft hitting a wall. For the first time, the sound was accompanied by a voice, but not the one Bigby had been expecting.

“ _Fuck—you_!” a woman screamed angrily.

Bigby started up the stairs again more quickly, taking them two at a time.

“I didn’t know anyone else was up there!” Toad called, leaning around the railing.

“Get back inside your apartment, Toad,” Bigby ordered.

Toad watched him, offering a thin smile and a wave the sheriff didn’t see, and then he sighed. “Furry pricked gobshite…tell me 'ow to spend my money…” He spat on the floor thoughtlessly and shook his head.

“Dad!” a small voice called from down the hall. Toad looked around the corner to see his son’s small head poking through the door, barely a foot off the ground. “The lights are shaking again…”

“Wha’d I say?” Toad demanded. He walked briskly to the apartment and waved his son back inside. “You wan’ the Big Bad Wolf to come ‘n take you away, is that it?”

“No…”

“Then get the _feck_ back inside!”

***

By the time Bigby reached the third floor, the fight in apartment 3B had escalated. A woman and man were shouting back and forth bitterly. The sheriff easily knew Woody’s voice, but he couldn’t place the woman’s.

Bigby jaw was tight as he stormed down the hallway. He was the sheriff, he reminded himself. His job was to handle domestic disputes _professionally_.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ _know_ who I am!” Woody roared. “You hear me?! Hey, look at me!”

_Professionally and calmly._

“Just stop, okay?!” the woman yelled. “You’re drunk!”

_Professionally and—_

“Take a look, bitch! Take a good look! Know who I am now, whore?! _Look at me_!”

“Let go! Get off me!”

_Fuck this._

When Bigby got to the apartment, he didn’t bother pounding on the door. He pulled his foot back and kicked it in unceremoniously. A bruised and scantily dressed girl was glaring fiercely at Woody as he towered over her. The door bounced off the wall at the same time Woody backhanded the girl— _hard_.

“ _Hey_!” Bigby shouted. He grabbed the Woodman’s collar and threw him against the wall. Woody had a good foot or two on the sheriff, but Bigby couldn’t have cared less.

Neither could the girl, for that matter.

“Hey, Woody,” she said calmly, dropping her hand from her bleeding lip. “You got somethin’ on your face.”

The Woodsman glared at her. “Fuck are you talkin’ about, you stupid cu—”

She spat in his face. Strings of bloody saliva splattered across his eye and cheek before running down to his jaw. Bigby smirked and then caught the Woodsman when he tried to throw himself at the girl.

“ _I’ll fuckin’ kill you_!”

Bigby looked between them. “Somebody wanna tell me what the hell is—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish the demand. Woody headbutted him hard enough to force Bigby back a couple steps. The sheriff grunted, clutched his nose, and jerked it back into place when he realized it had broken. He wiped away a little blood with the backs of his fingers and glared at the Woodsman. The large man pushed himself off the wall and cracked his neck as he raised his fists.

“You really wanna do this, Woody?” the sheriff demanded, lifting an arm to block a punch.

“What’re you gonna fuckin’ do, huh? Get the fuck outta the way before you get the axe again, dog.” He started towards the girl again, and Bigby pushed him back.

“Woody,” the sheriff glared, holding his hand up. “This is your _last_ warning. You keep on like this, I’m gonna have to put you down.”

The Woodsman threw his head back with a bellowing laugh. “Put _me_ down?!” he repeated. “You got a shit fuckin’ memory, Wolf. That’s now how it went last time.”

“This isn’t last time,” Bigby replied through his teeth.

Woody growled again and pulled his fist back. He threw all his weight into the punch, but Bigby caught it easily and twisted the larger man’s arm up behind his back. The Woodsman shouted wordlessly, but before Bigby could take advantage of the opening, Woody threw his head back. Bigby felt his nose break a second time. Blood dripped down his lips and chin, but he held fast to the Woodsman’s arm.

“Would you just calm down?!” he ordered, his gravelly voice turning into an even lower growl.

The other man bent forwards, roaring in pain and anger. Bigby twisted his arm up higher, and Woody stomped on the sheriff’s foot as hard as he could, trying in vain to find some purchase to cling to.

“Calm the fuck down, Woody,” Bigby warned.

“Or what, Wolf?” The Woodsman kicked Bigby hard across the shin. At the same time, he pulled his other arm back and tried to grab the sheriff.

Bigby threw him across the room more easily than his stature might have suggested. The Woodsman hit the couch in the furthest corner of the small room. It flipped over with him as fell in a heap to the ground.

“Had enough?” Bigby demanded, forcing his nose back into place again. Woody pulled himself up and kicked the couch across the room. It slammed into Bigby’s waist, forcing him to fall forward a little with a grunt.

“Least make it a fuckin’ challenge,” Woody roared. He pushed the couch out of the way again. It sailed across the floor, colliding noisily with the wall near the front door. Cracked pieces of cheap drywall fell to the floor in chunks, revealing the room's wooden ribs.

Woody lunged at Bigby, grabbed his collar, and lifted him clean off his feet. The air rushed from Bigby’s lungs. He grabbed the other man’s forehead with one hand, wrenching Woody’s head to one side to aim a powerful blow at his jugular.

The Woodsman dropped Bigby with a choked howl. He gripped his throat with both hands, coughing raggedly. Before he could recover, Bigby shoved him across the room to the kitchenette. Woody rebounded off the counter easily and tugged one of the cabinet doors off its hinges. He threw it across the room at the sheriff.

Bigby started to dodge before he remembered the girl somewhere behind him in the room. He caught it instead, grunting when one of his fingers jammed. He cast the door aside angrily enough that it crashed into the wall. More drywall came loose and fell to the floor as Bigby launched himself at Woody again. The larger man tried to punch Bigby, but the sheriff dodged swiftly. He grabbed the Woodsman’s shoulder and threw him back to switch places with him. Woody fell back and hit an empty bookshelf near where the girl was watching with her arms crossed. Woody grabbed a floor lamp and swung it around so rapidly that the girl had to duck and step back to avoid its broken glass edge.

Bigby didn’t see it in time; he barely had time to raise his arms. The lamp crashed against them. Glass shattered and sliced across his skin. He didn’t even react. He thrust his leg out and kicked the back of Woody’s knee to force him down to the floor. Woody howled and fell. Bigby wrenched the lamp from his hands and threw it to the other side of the room harder than he meant to. In the same quick move, he slammed the Woodsman’s head against the bookshelf. When he grew dazed, he pulled the Woodsman up and reached for the handcuffs in his back pocket. Woody came back to his senses and elbowed Bigby hard in the chest. The cuffs fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and Bigby threw Woody across the room again to the kitchen counter.

“Just— _stop_!” Bigby ordered breathlessly.

“Go fuck yourself!” Woody retorted. He reached for something in the cabinet.

The sheriff didn’t wait to see what it was; he lunged forward and caught Woody’s arm, pinning it high on his back. The both grappled for control. Woody grabbed a glass bottle with his other hand, wriggling violently against Bigby’s hold on him. He tried to hit the sheriff, but Bigby caught the bottle mid-swing and brought it down over the back of Woody’s head. He’d _hoped_ it would be enough to knock the man out.

Bigby was never very lucky.

“Go fuck yourself,” the Woodsman snarled again, grabbing the toaster off the counter. He whirled around and hit Bigby across the face with it. The skin over the sheriff’s cheekbone split open. Blood pooled and dripped down from the bruising wound, cascaded down his jaw in two rivulets.

Bigby stumbled back, and Woody wrestled him to the ground. The sheriff reversed the tackle swiftly, kneeling over the other man. Before he could capitalize on the advantage, Woody kicked him off. The sheriff in turn grabbed Woody’s collar, forced him back to his feet, and threw him across the room again.

At this point, Bigby knew all he could do was tire the bigger man out. They’d go back and forth for hours. He couldn’t overcome the Woodsman in his human form alone, and he refused to shift into any other for this shit.

Their fight took them back across the room again. The Woodsman threw a punch at Bigby, and the sheriff pushed him back. Woody fell onto the bare bed. The springs of the mattress whined in protest at the larger man’s weight, and Bigby followed him quickly, pressing a knee to Woody’s chest hard enough to cut off his air. The sheriff followed up with his fists, alternating left and right. He felt his knuckles split and crack as Woody’s nose broke.

“Fuckin’ dog!” the Woodsman roared, his eyes darting briefly to the left. The glance distracted Bigby enough that Woody managed to get a leg between them and kick him off. Bigby fell back, clutching his stomach as he glared at the Woodsman.

Woody threw himself off the bed and pushed the bookshelf away. It fell and broke as he lunged for something hidden behind it. He stood up, giving the sheriff a victorious snort as he swung a heavy weapon around once.

Bigby’s eyes caught on the silver end. Engraved along the axe’s blade and wooden handle were ancient runes whose meanings were all but lost now. Bigby released a long, frustrated breath. He’d recognize that fucking axe anywhere.

Woody noticed, mistaking wariness for fear. “Remember this, don’t you, Wolf?”

He swung the blade around violently. The sheriff dodged it, unhappy that he’d suddenly been forced to the defensive. He switched places with Woody, watching the silver axe as he waited. The opportunity didn’t present itself for several tense moments until Woody missed the sheriff and the blade sunk deep into the wooden floor.

Bigby immediately lunged forward and grabbed the long wooden handle. They both grappled for control for several long seconds before Bigby pulled back as hard as he could and then let go. The blunt end of the axe slammed into Woody’s stomach, and the bigger man fell back in shock, clutching his ribs. Bigby grabbed the axe successfully and swung it around to hit the flat end of the silver blade against the Woodsman’s jaw. The large man gave another howl and then, finally, fell back, immobile.

“Fuck,” Bigby grunted, tossing the axe away angrily. He leaned over to rest his hands on his knees as he panted. “ _Shit_. Every—fuckin’ time with this shit.”

The Woodsman wasn’t unconscious, but he was dazed enough to be quiet for the moment. He rolled over, clutching his bruised jaw with a long groan.

The girl came closer, glaring at the Woodsman bitterly. He leaned up on an elbow and groaned again. Bigby glanced at the girl, breathlessly wiping blood from his jaw as he stood up again.

Her eyes were a vivid emerald green. Bigby knew that if he’d ever met her before, he’d remember. Her straight black hair reached the end of her jaw. She tucked it behind her ears with an angry gesture, her glare focused on the Woodsman. One of her eyes was black and blue, and she had long, thin bruises across her upper arms from where the Woodsman must have grabbed her. Her lip was split in two places. The blood dribbling from it had been smeared across her chin messily.

Despite the abuse she’d endured her, the girl surprised Bigby with an almost defiant look. Her eyes were cold, somewhat calculating as she stared at the man on the ground. But beyond the defense, Bigby saw traces of sadness freckling her expression—perhaps a sadness she wasn’t even aware she carried.

The sheriff noted the black skirt that barely covered her, the revealing green top, and the thin purple ribbon that was neatly tied around her neck, and he realized she was a working girl.

He grimaced as he picked up his handcuffs from the floor. He suspected she’d have little interest in being involved with what would happen next.

“You should probably get out of here,” he offered, rubbing his jaw as he glanced back at Woody.

The girl crossed her arms, leveling a cool glare at Bigby now. “Look,” she muttered in an even voice, “I’m not leaving until I get what’s mine.”

“Yer nod gedding shid, bidch,” Woody growled with difficulty. “I’ll fugging pud yew in de gound, bidch.”

“Say that word one more time,” Bigby warned.

“Wud?” Woody frowned. “Bidch? She’th a fugging _bid_ —”

Bigby kicked the man hard across the jaw. The resulting crack and howl were both deafening. “What did I just say?” 

The Woodsman fell back, his eyes wide and flooding with pain and anger. “ _Ngh_! Yew— _ngh_ —yew fugging…ah—fuh—shit—” He gripped the slack lower half of his face, attempting to hold it in place. “Yew bwoke buy jaw! Yew _badurd_!”

“And _still_ you talk,” Bigby sighed.

“Fug yew.”

The sheriff shook his head and then followed the girl the few steps she’d gone. She was peering into a small pink compact’s mirror, applying concealer as best she could to her black eye.

She scowled when the effort wasn’t very successful. “Shit.”

“What the hell’s going on here?” Bigby asked her. “What happened?”

“A little misunderstanding that turned into a real shitshow,” the girl muttered. She stared at her black eye in the mirror furiously. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. You saw all the best bits.”

“Ders…moar where dad cameb frumb, gurlie. Yew piece’a—”

“Knock it off,” Bigby ordered, glaring at the Woodsman briefly before he returned to the girl.

“Look,” she said, snapping the compact closed, “this is just the start of a shitty night for me. I just need the money he owes me, then I can go.”

“Are you alright?” Bigby asked, glancing at her eye and split lip again.

The girl’s eyes flickered up to his, and for a brief moment, they seemed almost hollow. “I’m…hunky dory,” she replied, her tone deceivingly sarcastic. She looked away and sighed. “Thanks for asking.”

“Seriously,” the sheriff insisted. “I need to know if you’re okay. I can call Dr. Swineheart to—”

The girl shook her head and crossed her arms again. “I’m fine, Sheriff.”

Bigby sighed. “What happened here? Why was he…?”

She grimaced, and Bigby thought for a moment that she wasn’t going to answer. Then, she sighed heavily. “He asked if I recognized him, knew who he was,” she said indifferently. “I said I didn’t. He started beating on me. Then you showed up, started beating on _him_. That about cover it, hon?” she asked, glancing around Bigby to the man on the floor.

“I’b the _Woodsman_ , yew hoar! _Aye_ saved Liddle Red Riding Hood frumb this _monster_.” Bigby turned around very slowly. “I cut this fugger open with that fugging axe…filled his belly full’a stones…” Woody gripped his jaw and forced it back into place with another angry roar. “ _And then I threw him in the fucking river_! That’s who the fuck I am, you stupid _bitch_!”

Bigby glanced at the girl. “Would you excuse me for a second?”

“By all means,” the woman replied, waving him forward.

“The fuck did I say about that word, Woody?”

“Come on, Wolf! Fuckin’ show her who you are!”

Bigby lunged for the Woodsman, but the larger man caught the sheriff around the middle. He turned them around, and then tried to tackle him against the window. It broke immediately. Glass shattered across Bigby’s shoulders, and then they were falling.

Wind yanked at the sheriff’s clothes for a single, weightless moment, and then he crashed into a car painfully hard. The roof caved instantly. Glass popped out of the window frames and clattered noisily to the ground. The Woodsman missed the car and hit the concrete with a low, wet thud.

Bigby realized he must have blacked out briefly, because when he opened his eyes and turned his head slowly, he saw Toad’s almost comical look of absolute horror.

The sheriff groaned and tried to pull himself up, but his ribs cried out in protest. As he fell back again, he saw the massive hole in the wall of the third-story apartment, and he gave another grunt.

“Fuckin’…shit,” he complained, clutching at his ribs. One of them was definitely broken, and his spine was definitely bruised. Pain jolted down through Bigby’s back and legs when he tried to move again. He let himself fall into the car’s dent once more with another groan. He glanced over at the distressed amphibian beside him. “Hey, Toad,” he muttered.

“My…my car!” the toad wailed, distraught.

“Didn’t, uh…know you drove a taxi,” Bigby offered with a weak cough. He could feel his body healing, but the first few seconds, when everything snapped back into place, were excruciating. “Just…gimme a second here…”

“Oh no, by all means,” Toad muttered, dropping his hands from his head. “Take your bloody time. Make yourself comfortable. Want I should get you a cuppa?”

“No need to go to any trouble,” Bigby said through his teeth. He winced and then released a low, strangled breath when the pain lessened. “Sorry about the car, Toad…We, uh…ended up goin’ out the window. Couldn’t be avoided.”

Toad shook his head with a quiet sigh. “Can’t be mad at you,” he replied flatly. “I called you…’n you come to ‘elp. I can’t be mad, but…even when you ‘elp…things end up more fucked up than they started.”

Bigby looked away and closed his eyes.

“Well,” Toad muttered after a moment, his face turned away from Bigby. “Least you’re not fuckin’ dead.”

Bigby’s eyes flashed open when rough hands grabbed his ankles. He didn’t even have a chance to register what was happening before he was dragged off the car and thrown to the road. Glass sliced through his hands and knees, and Bigby rolled a couple times. Before he could get his breath back or even think of pulling himself back up, the Woodsman grabbed his collar, hoisted him off the ground, and slammed him up against the side of a bus stop terminal. He wrapped thick hands around the sheriff’s throat and started to squeeze.

Bigby grabbed Woody’s wrists as black spots formed in his vision. He felt his throat close, trapping the air in his lungs. Vessels burst as the Woodsman tightened his grip. The sheriff reached for Woody’s throat, but his grip strength was gone. He tried to poke his thumb into Woody’s eye, but the Woodsman jerked his head back and bit down hard on the finger.

“Quit fuckin’ around!” he roared. “I know you’re in there! Come on out, you fuckin’ _dog_. Time to stop pretending!”

Woody pulled Bigby up higher off the ground. The sheriff’s legs twitched as his vision blurred. The colorful Bronx street dimmed to gray. He grabbed Woody’s wrists again, but he couldn’t pry them off his throat.

He felt it building inside him—a raw, roaring instinct that he fought with all the strength he had left. His heart pounded erratically in his chest, his adrenaline rushing through his veins almost painfully as the instinct threatened to take over.

“Come on out, Wolf,” Woody spat, tightening his grip again.

Bigby couldn’t hear anything past the buzzing in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, clinging to Woody’s wrists as hard as he could. He managed to jerk the other man’s hand a little, but it wasn’t nearly enough to stave off the inevitable. He felt the first threshold claw at his mind and rip at his chest as he desperately fought it.

Snow popped into his mind, and his control slipped.

Yellow eyes flashed open, and the Woodsman grinned. “There you are, you fuckin’ wolf,” he snarled. “That’s it. Come out and—” Woody stopped, his mouth and eyes widening. He swayed, and then, in an instant, both he and Bigby collapsed onto the road. Bigby squeezed his eyes closed again, coughing and choking as air suddenly rushed back through his sore throat. He gripped his neck, releasing an angry groan as he struggled to breathe normally. He pressed his fingers into his eyes and didn’t open them again until they were his usual brown.

Bigby pulled himself up slowly and lifted a hand to the bus terminal. He looked up dazedly, trying to catch his breath. The girl from upstairs was standing on the street beside him. She watched him worriedly as he coughed raggedly again. The sheriff glanced down to see the Woodsman on the ground, his own axe embedded deep into the back of his skull.

“Shit,” Bigby croaked and coughed again. He frowned at the sound of his bruised larynx and shook his head, pressing his fingers to his eyes again. “ _Shit_. Thanks.”

The woman was smirking at him when he looked at her. “Don’t mention it. You okay?”

Bigby nodded and groaned again, loosening his already-loose tie. Behind the girl, Woody lifted himself weakly to his hands and knees. He managed to crawl forward a few inches before he fell again. The girl grimaced and then knelt beside him. Bigby watched her rifle through the other man’s pockets without comment.

“I’m just getting what he owes me,” she explained. “You alright back there?” she added, glancing at the sheriff. “I mean…your eyes? And the teeth? You’re…not really supposed to do that, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” Bigby replied gruffly.

The girl pulled a few coins from Woody’s pants. She glared at them and then threw them down angrily. “Great,” she snapped. She stood up and kicked the Woodsman’s unconscious body with her long stiletto.

Bigby tried to swallow without much success. “Guy’s got an axe in his brain,” he muttered in a rough voice. “Don’t think he’s feeling that.” 

“It’s more for me. He’ll be fine,” she said, seeming unhappy with the prospect.

The Woodsman stirred a little. “I’ll…kill yew…yew fuggin’…bidch…”

“Can’t say he’s not determined,” Bigby grunted.

“Mm,” the girl mused dryly. “Kind of like a dog determined to catch his own tail.”

“Fuggin’…bidch…”

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the girl offered in a falsely sweet voice. She lifted her heel up to the back of the axe, shifted her weight, and forced it in deeper. Woody groaned and then grew limp.

Bigby grimaced. “Guy’s havin’ a rough night.”

“Makes two of us,” the girl muttered, considering the man’s body for a moment. “I guess it’s a good thing Fables are hard to kill.”

“Suppose it is.”

The girl turned and walked a few feet away to where she’d dropped her purse. Bigby realized Toad was gone—likely calling the Business Office to complain about Bigby’s methods. Great.

The girl searched through her bag and walked slowly down the sidewalk while Bigby reached for the axe in Woody’s head. It took more time and a lot more effort than Bigby had anticipated to remove it, but he managed to work the silver blade out. He tossed it onto the ground near the unconscious man and then followed the girl to where she waited in an alley.

Something prickled at the back of Bigby’s neck. He glanced behind him across the street, but no one was walking or watching them—fortunately. This would be quite a scene to try to explain, especially to mundies.

The girl was struggling to light her cigarette by the time Bigby arrived. Her lighter flickered lifelessly in her hand. “Shit, just…come on,” she mumbled around the cigarette.

“Here,” Bigby offered, pulling his own lighter out. He lit the flame swiftly, holding it out to her. She leaned over and nodded gratefully.

“Thanks,” she said after a long drag. She blew the smoke away from the sheriff and flicked the cigarette. She watched the ash fall from it with sad eyes, and then she glanced at Bigby with an almost wary look. “Well…I suppose you have some questions.”

“A few. Who are you?”

She looked away. “I’m whoever you want me to be.”

“No, I meant—”

“I know what you meant, Sheriff. I can’t answer that.”

“Why?”

“These lips are sealed.”

Bigby frowned. “Who do you work for, then?”

The girl’s eyes fell to the sidewalk. She took another drag before she answered. “These lips are sealed,” she repeated softly, leaning against the brick wall behind her. “Sorry.” She looked so sad for a moment that Bigby regretted the question.

“I’d like to help you. If you could just—”

“Hey,” she interrupted softly, glancing up at him almost bashfully. She lifted a hand to her neck. “You like my ribbon?”

Bigby spared a glance at it. The thin purple ribbon was impossibly neat, despite her altercation with the Woodsman. It was tied securely around her throat, not even a little off-centered. Whoever designed it had place something of a logo on one of the ends, a plum-colored lipstick imprint of a kiss. It should have been enough of an indicator to suggest where she worked, but it didn’t help at all.

The girl was looking at him so hopefully that Bigby didn’t know what she wanted him to say. “Sure,” he offered almost dismissively. “It’s nice, but I’m trying to help you. I can’t do that if you don’t answer my questions.”

The girl closed her eyes briefly and let her hand fall away. She brought her cigarette to her lips. As she took another drag, her shoulders drew in a little until she was standing almost like how an insecure adolescent might stand. She seemed to realize it and straightened her back. “I’m answering them the best that I can,” she replied quietly.

Bigby looked at her for a long moment, searching her emerald eyes as she watched the ground. He squinted at her, frowning softly. “I…feel like we’ve met before,” he admitted.

The girl’s eyes flickered up to his, but she shrugged indifferently. “We probably have. We all sort of knew each other at one point or another, but…things change, I guess.”

“I guess,” Bigby agreed. He glanced over his shoulder to see Woody and the axe gone. “Shit,” he muttered. He started to walk in the only direction the man could have gone, but the girl caught his wrist and stepped closer to him.

“Stop,” she said, looking up at him earnestly. “We don’t have to make any more of a thing out of this than it already is.”

The sheriff frowned at her. “He hit you. He’s gonna pay for that, if nothing else.”

The girl shrugged, a hint of amusement entering her emerald eyes. “He’s got nothin’ to give, Sheriff. I checked. Besides, I just swung an axe into the guy’s head,” she pointed out with a smirk. “I’d say we’re even.”

Bigby raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should be arresting you, then.”

The women’s dry smile grew. “Well, I won’t be doing this much longer, so now’s your chance.” Something flickered in her eyes as she finished talking. Her expression darkened, and she looked away.

“Something wrong?”

“No.” She realized she was still holding Bigby’s wrist, and she let him go. Her eyes grew sad as she stared at the sidewalk, and then she turned around.

Bigby glanced back at the large bloodstain the Woodsman left behind. “How much was it he owed you?”

“A hundred,” she shrugged, flicking her cigarette again.

Bigby grimaced. “Shit. I’m…guessing it would be bad for you to show up empty-handed.”

The girl’s expression hollowed again. Bigby wouldn’t have noticed it if not for the reflection in the bus terminal stand. She forced a smile and turned around again, attempting a somewhat playful look. “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Not the first time a client’s skipped out on me.”

Bigby looked at her for a brief moment and then pulled out his wallet. “Let’s see…I’ve got, uh…” He flicked through his cash with a grimace. The girl slowly looked up at him again. “That’s…twenty, forty…seven, eight…Fifty-eight,” he muttered, pulling the bills out. He held them out to her, shoving his wallet back into his pocket. “It’s all I got,” he added with a shrug, “but it’ll help, right? Take it.”

The girl tried to fight her smile as her expression softened. “It’s okay,” she assured him again. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough. Really. Keep your fifty-eight dollars, Sheriff.”

“Just…” He extended it further. “Take the money…okay?”

The girl released a quiet breath and pursed her lips. She accepted it, folded it, and slipped it swiftly into her bra. “You…got me out of a bad situation back there,” she murmured, glancing up at the sheriff slowly. “Thanks.”

“I’m still gonna need a statement.”

The girl crossed her arms loosely. “I have to go…drop off what I have first.”

“Meet me back at my office, then.”

She smirked. “It’s…a little late for an office visit, Sheriff. I’ll swing by your apartment.”

Bigby frowned. “How do you know where I—”

“You live in the smallest apartment in the Woodlands,” she interrupted with a more sincere smile. “ _Everyone_ knows that.”

Bigby grimaced. “Huh. Good to know.”

The girl chuckled once and pursed her lips. “Hm…You should get cleaned up,” she mused, her eyes trailing over his bloody nose and split cheek. “Some of these look pretty bad.” She reached for him slowly, wincing a little when she brushed the tips of her fingers under the wound near his eye. “You look like shit. And…I don’t use that term lightly.”

Bigby scoffed. “Wow, tell me what you really think.”

The girl seemed amused at first, but she lifted her emerald eyes to his. Bigby frowned slightly at the solemnity he read in her darkening expression. She looked away, scanning the ground for a moment before she looked back up again. “Hey,” she murmured. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it?” he asked when she didn’t finish.

The girl leaned forward, resting her hand on his shoulder. She rose to her toes and pulled Bigby down a little so she could reach his ear. “You’re not as bad as everyone says you are,” she whispered softly. She kissed his cheek and then moved past him, walking down the sidewalk slowly.

Bigby turned to watch her go, that familiar feeling nagging at him again, the sense that he knew her—or perhaps _should_ have known her. He hadn’t met her in Fabletown, but maybe back in the Homelands.

Without turning around, the girl waved with two fingers, a smirk in her voice when she spoke again. “I’ll see you around…Wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life force. Let me know if you liked it!! If you want to leave a comment but don't necessarily want me to respond, you can end it with a ~, and I'll appreciate your comment but respect your wishes! 💕💕 Thank you!! 😊


	2. Chapter 2

It was closer to dawn than midnight when Bigby finally made it back to the Woodlands. The hour-and-a-half walk itself hadn’t been too bad, but he was still drained and exhausted by the time he was nearing his apartment building.

The large stone walls surrounding the complex rose high enough to render the building and surrounding trees completely invisible to the street. A tall, elaborately carved black gate—something straight from the Homelands, Bigby had no doubt—was all that stood between the grassy, tree-filled oasis of the Woodlands and the concrete, car-infested world of Fabletown.

Bigby sighed when he caught sight of the ridiculous, cursive sign that seemed to scream _Luxury Apartments_. He wasn’t sure why they’d felt such a strong need to include that part. It was only half-true anyway. Some of the apartments were fancy—the penthouses, undoubtedly—but the sheriff’s small apartment sure as hell wasn’t, and as much as Snow complained about cold showers, neon signs, and the near-constant stream of arguments from the apartment next to hers, her place wasn’t exactly _luxury_ , either. The first couple floors were dedicated to the business offices anyway; the rest of the apartments were decent at best.

Bigby pushed open the iron gate and let it swing shut behind him. They used to keep it locked with a guard, but after a while, they couldn’t afford the inconvenience—or the price—of a second full-time guard to filter tenants and visitors alike.

The sheriff shoved a hand into his pocket as he walked down the canopied sidewalk. It was much darker here than on the street. It was during these walks through the thin strip of woods that Bigby thought most of home. Thick oak branches blotted out streetlights and moonlight, giving the place that old-world eeriness. One could almost forget the car horns, radios, and airplanes just outside the gates.

Bigby had no trouble seeing in the dark, but he knew many of the other residents of the Woodlands had complained about the darkness. Snow had agreed with him; she liked the way the trees gave the complex an “otherworldly” effect, but others had argued that it was scary or uncomfortable, as if the trees had eyes. Most simply stated that it was too dark to see where they were going. They’d even gone as far as starting a petition to install regular lights down the path. In response, wonderful Deputy Mayor Crane had suggested that they stop going out after dark.

The sheriff was halfway to the front entrance when he heard something rustle in the bushes over his right shoulder. He glanced back in time to see a flash of blonde hair and a red coat dart behind a massive oak tree.

He sighed heavily, stopped, and crossed his arms. “You know there’s no walking on the grass,” he said casually. “Snow White’s orders. She even made a sign ‘n everything.”

There was a quiet snort in the stillness of the trees. “I’ll be sure to send her an apology,” a low, warm voice returned.

Bigby frowned. “Beauty?”

The woman emerged with her arms crossed tight over her crimson trench coat. Blonde hair fell in thick waves across her back, held away from her face with thin black pins. She walked unsteadily through the grass and bushes. The heels of her absurdly tall stilettos sunk deep into the earth. Bigby made a face at that; Snow wouldn’t be happy.

“Hello, Bigby,” Beauty greeted belatedly as she came to a stop near him. The strong scent of her rose perfume drifted over to him despite her distance. It gave him a bit of a headache, and he resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette. He knew the scent bothered her more than the others. “I…wasn’t expecting anyone,” she admitted, looking over at him unhappily.

“What’re you doing out so late?” Bigby wondered. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she nodded seriously. She spoke with a rather old and refined accent compared to some of the others. She didn’t look it, but Beauty was probably one of the oldest Fables here. Her story dated back almost as far as Bigby’s.

“Why’d you hide?”

Beauty flashed a wide, easy smile, but the tightness of her eyes didn’t fade. “Guess that’s what I get for running into the sheriff,” she teased.

“I don’t mean to grill you,” he replied, looking away.

Beauty stepped closer. “I’m kidding, Bigby. I hid because I…I didn’t know who was coming up. You can’t be too careful these days.”

The sheriff knew she was lying. “No, guess you can’t,” he agreed.

Beauty glanced at her watch, and he heard her heart lurch as she gasped. “Damn it, I’m late!” She whirled around so quickly that her long hair smacked Bigby’s crossed arms. Her heels clicked against the concrete as she hurried away, but she hesitated at the dark gates. She turned back to the sheriff with an imploring look. “Bigby…could you do me a favor?”

“What is it?”

“Please…can you just promise me you won’t tell Beast you saw me? If he asks, I mean. He worries too much as it is, and…it would just make my life a lot easier if you pretended like you didn’t see me.”

Bigby considered Beauty for a moment. Beast certainly struck an intimidating figure—like Toad, his name wasn’t just a title—but Bigby had never known Beast to do anything but dote on his wife. Even still, there were some rumors—the kind the sheriff despised overhearing in the elevator—that suggested Beast was overbearing and domineering, watching Beauty’s every move with a possessive eye.

“Will you, Bigby?” she asked again. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but—”

“Sure, Beauty,” the sheriff agreed. His flat tone barely concealed the flicker of concern he felt. He’d have to keep a closer eye on Beast, make sure everything was okay. 

“You promise?” Beauty replied in surprise.

“Promise.”

Beauty beamed at him again, and Bigby supposed _none_ of the Fables names were just monikers. Relief weighed down her expression. “ _Thank you_ , Bigby,” she said earnestly. “I’ll explain it all to you later, I promise, but I have to go.” She slipped out of the gate and closed it swiftly behind her. She looked at him through the bars and gave an almost sad smile. “Thank you for trusting me. Really. I appreciate it, Bigby.”

The sheriff nodded and turned back to the path. He took the few stairs up two at a time and pulled the door open briskly. As soon as he stepped inside the wide lobby, he rolled his eyes at the security guard currently asleep in the job. Even still, Bigby couldn't help but be impressed. It was a methodical approach, really. To anyone else, Grimble might have looked awake and alert at his desk. He was sitting upright in his chair, his head held up discreetly by a neck pillow hidden by his hooded jacket. The blue security coat he was supposed to be wearing on duty was tossed over one end of the desk. His sunglasses were perhaps a dead giveaway, but it was his slow heart rate and deep, even breathing that told Bigby the man was out cold.

“Hey,” Bigby mumbled, knocking lightly on the desk. “Grimble.” The man didn’t even stir. Bigby sighed heavily. “Great.”

He passed the security desk to the elevators and swiftly pressed the button. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. As if the night hadn’t already been long enough, he knew he had an hour of paperwork ahead of him. And he figured Crane would probably demand to see him bright and early if Toad actually had called to complain.

Didn’t look like he’d be getting much in the way of sleep. 

Regardless, Bigby was heading to his apartment. He figured he’d probably missed the girl from Woody’s apartment in the time it took him to walk here, but he could at least get in half an hour of shuteye, if he was lucky, before he headed to his office. Glancing at his bloody knuckles, he realized he needed to clean up before work anyway.

Bigby watched the elevator’s arrow fall to the first floor. When the doors opened, he caught a whiff of jasmine and vanilla in the air. His mind became a little distracted with the scent as he hit the button for his floor. She must have come through here recently. Looked like _no one_ was getting much sleep tonight.

He was so distracted that he didn’t realize Beast was in the lobby until the man stopped the elevator doors from closing.

“Bigby!” he said loudly. “Have you seen my wife? Have you seen Beauty?”

“Nope,” the sheriff replied, a little annoyed at the interruption. “Haven’t seen her.”

Beast’s shoulders fell. “Oh…okay. Sorry to bother you…”

Bigby waited as long as he could, and then he sighed. “Mind movin’ your hand?”

“Mm? Sure, Bigby.” He clearly hadn’t heard the request.

Bigby sighed again and crossed his arms.

“Are you certain you haven’t seen her?”

“Yep.”

“Damn it…something’s going on. Will you let me know if you see her? Please, Bigby.”

“You know she can take care of herself, right?”

“She’s my _wife_ ,” Beast scoffed, finally pulling his hand back.

Bigby didn’t bother commenting on the insinuation as the doors slid shut. He pressed a few fingers to his eyes, trying to push back the migraine that had been threatening to break through for hours.

He was rubbing the back of his neck when the elevator jolted to a stop on his floor. He fished for his keys as he walked around the corner and down the long hall to the last door on the right. He noted that the light bulb had blown near the neighbor’s door sometime during the night. The red neon sign across the street shone through the windows instead, bathing the hallway in waning, bloody tones.

“What a fuckin’ night,” Bigby grumbled to himself as he entered his apartment. He dropped his keys and took the phone off the ringer without even bothering to turn on the lights. He loosened his tie, wincing at the room's stale smell—a combination of musty heat and the leftovers on the table. Day-old Chinese, he realized with a frown. Didn’t even remember ordering that. Probably a bad sign.

Bigby stepped into the kitchenette and forced the little window up. It tried to fight him; it always did. Shoddy workmanship had rendered the window just a hair too big for the frame. When the wood swelled in the summer, it was damn-near impossible to lift without breaking it.

A warm breeze blew in through the blinds, rattling them softly against the sill. Bigby sighed and leaned against the sink, running the cold water. He washed his face as best he could, coming away with more than just his own fair share of blood. He checked his shirt and gave a disgruntled grunt when he saw blood had splattered there, too. As he walked through the apartment to his bedroom, he worked his tie off and unbuttoned the shirt. There was barely enough space for a bed inside, let alone any other furniture. Honestly, Bigby didn’t really care. If someone had to have the “smallest” apartment, it was for the best that it was him. He didn’t own much. Whatever furniture or window coverings were in the apartment now had already been there when he’d moved in, though Snow had insisted he get a new mattress and a desk.

Bigby worked his way between the bed and the dresser to grab a fresh white shirt from the closet. It was nearly identical to the one he’d already been wearing, but he didn’t like having a lot of inane choices in the morning. He used the same tie again, but he kept it looser than usual for the time being.

The sheriff was on his way to sit down when he heard a quiet snore in the living room. He glanced up and then gave a heavy sigh. Colin was taking up the entire chair—the apartment’s _only_ chair. His giant head was lolling off to one side, a string of drool staining the fabric beneath it as his hooves dangled off three different sides.

“Colin,” Bigby grumbled. The pig didn’t stir. “Hey, Colin. Get up.” Nothing. “ _Colin_.” Not even a snort. Bigby gave up and poked the pig’s shoulder sharply.

Colin lazily lifted an ear away from his eyes. “Oh, hey, Bigby. How’s it goin’?”

“Hey.”

Colin noted Bigby’s disapproving frown. “I’m…in your chair, huh?”

“I’ve only got the one…so, yeah. C’mon. I’m tired, Colin. It’s been a long day.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Colin snorted, sliding to the floor slowly. “I haven’t seen you since this morning. What’ve you been doin' all day?”

“My job,” Bigby huffed in response, collapsing into the chair. The pig had left it very warm and uncomfortably indented, but Bigby was too tired to complain.

“Was that some kind of a jab at me?” Colin teased, settling on the ground.

The sheriff snorted once but didn’t otherwise reply as he pulled his cigarette pack from his pocket.

Colin cocked his head. “Got a smoke?”

Bigby lit a cigarette and leaned up enough to put it in the pig’s mouth before he fell back and lit another.

Colin gave him a half-smile. “Thanks. Couple thousand more’a these, we’ll be even on that house you owe me.”

The sheriff grunted and reached for a whiskey bottle only to find it empty. He took his cigarette between his first two fingers, pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose.

“This has to stop,” he muttered, pulling himself off his chair again. “You can’t keep sneaking off the Farm like this, Colin.”

The pig scoffed and followed him to the kitchen. “That whole fresh air ‘n sunshine pitch they sell you on is utter bullshit. I didn’t escape outta the Homelands just to end up in some prison, okay? Don’t send me back there, Bigby. You don’t know what it’s like, okay? You haven’t been there, and—”

“Calm down,” Bigby mumbled, searching the cabinets for a fresh bottle. He settled on a bottle of bourbon and poured a glass. “I’m not sending you back. I _should_ ,” he added, receiving the pig’s half-hearted glare. “But I won’t.”

“How touching, Bigby. Really. So self-sacrificing. Who are you and what have you done with my taciturn friend.” Colin gave the glass in Bigby’s hand a pointed look. “That for me?”

“Nope.”

The pig frowned and followed him back to the living room. “The house didn’t blow _itself_ down, Bigby. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Bigby stopped at the desk near his bedroom, pretending to ignore the pig as he flipped through a couple open case files. One of them was a dossier on the infamous, crooked Bluebeard, and Bigby’s expression darkened.

“Now,” Colin continued obliviously, “I’m not saying it’s reason enough to have _definitely_ been offered a drink, but, uh…it would’ve helped ease some of the pain you once caused me, yes? It also would have shown everyone how different you are now.”

Bigby took a long sip, glancing back at the pig once.

“Nice,” Colin muttered with a frown. “Fine, I take it all back. _This_ is why everyone hates you.”

Colin regretted the snippy comment when he saw Bigby’s frown—offended, not angry.

“Everyone, huh?” the sheriff repeated, his tone deliberately indifferent.

Colin saw straight through him. “No,” he sighed guiltily. “I’m just givin’ you shit.”

“I’m doing my best here,” Bigby said quietly.

“ _Clearly_ , that is not true,” Colin snorted lightly, uncomfortable with the sheriff’s genuine tone, “what with the selfishness with the bourbon.” Bigby pushed off the desk and returned to his chair. “But no, uh, _hate’s_ the wrong word. No, no…they _fear_ you more than anything.”

Bigby grimaced. That was worse.

“You ate a lotta people back in the day,” Colin shrugged when he saw Bigby’s reaction.

The sheriff looked away. “Thought we were supposed to have a fresh start here.”

“That pitch goes right up there with the fresh air ‘n sunshine one.”

“I can’t change the past.”

“Yeah, well, you can’t change people’s memories, either.” Colin saw the look that flashed across Bigby’s expression before the sheriff caught it. “Look, I’m not saying it’s fair…but it’s real. People are scared’a you. I mean, look at your hands, for fuck’s sake.” Bigby healed fast, but they still looked bad. The skin had cracked and split over the knuckles. Red wounds had turned into mottled bruises. “Who’d you even get into a fight with? A Fable, right? Doubt you’re going around punchin’ mundies just for the hell of it.”

Bigby sighed heavily. “I was doing my job, believe it or not.”

Colin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Your job is to beat the shit out of Fables?” he wondered dryly.

“No,” the sheriff replied. “Sometimes I take them to the Farm.”

Colin’s humor vanished. “Fuck you, Bigby.”

The sheriff his fingers against his temple, leaning further into his chair. He was tired—in more ways than one. “You think my job is easy? You try keeping a bunch of angry Fables from killing each other every other night. How do you think all this works?”

Colin scowled but settled near the sheriff on the floor. “I don’t know,” he replied, his tone devoid of any actual interest. “How.”

“By being big and being bad.”

Colin choked. “Don’t ever—and I’m saying this as your friend, Bigby. Don’t _ever_ say that out loud again. I’m embarrassed _for_ you.”

Bigby conceded that one and took another sip.

“But I get what you’re saying. And that’s exactly what I’m talking about. That’s the attitude that gets you into trouble. I’m sure you were shitty to everyone you came across tonight.”

“Not everyone.”

The pig scoffed again. “Name _one_.”

“Well…” Bigby frowned. “There was a girl, but…I didn’t get her name.”

“Mm. Great example.”

Bigby looked away, his expression souring. He didn’t know why he felt the need to defend himself.

Colin sighed and gave the sheriff a more sympathetic tone. “Look, life’s easier with friends, Bigby, and we live a long fuckin’ time. I know you like this whole ‘Lone Wolf’ thing you got goin’ for yourself, but…Look, I’ve seen the way you look at Snow, okay? You’re not foolin’ me.”

“Will you just shut up?” Bigby demanded.

“Well,” Colin hummed agreeably, “ _maybe_ if my throat wasn’t so parched, I wouldn’t have to keep talking.”

“That doesn’t even make—”

“Just give me a drink! Please!”

“Colin, _enough_ already. I haven’t slept in two days, I just went out a third-story window, and I want to get in _two seconds_ of shuteye before I—” He stopped when he saw the look Colin was deliberately giving him. It was the most pathetic, puppy-eyed look the sheriff had ever seen. Bigby sighed heavily and covered his eyes with one hand. “If I give this to you…will you let me sleep?”

“Your odds would definitely improve.”

Bigby breathed out slowly and set the glass on the floor. Colin gave him a smile as he dropped and stamped out his cigarette.

“Thanks, Bigby,” he said quietly, leaning over the glass rim to lap the bourbon up noisily.

Bigby fell back into the chair. He slid down a little to rest his head and crossed his arms. He never even heard the pig settle back down before he was out.

***

Three sharp, persistent knocks at the door startled Bigby awake. At first, he thought it had been the echoes of some dream, but another round of knocks—this time in faster succession—alerted him to reality. Bigby ran a hand down his face tiredly. The clock on the wall revealed he hadn’t even slept half an hour.

Colin was unconscious on the floor, his ear covering his eyes again. Bigby envied him his deep sleeping as he stood and picked the glass up off the floor.

“Alright, alright,” the sheriff mumbled under his breath when they knocked again. He set the glass on the table as he passed it. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

They knocked even louder and harder, perhaps under the impression the sheriff was hard of hearing. He reached up to loosen his tie a little as he opened the door swiftly with the other hand.

The scent hit him first, the sweet mix of her soft perfume and the natural aroma of her skin. His eyes widened a little. “Snow,” he greeted, his tone equally surprised. She’d never come to his apartment before.

She was as beautiful as ever, her thick, black hair tied back in its usual chignon. Today, she’d chosen a denim-blue skirt with a fitted tan blazer. Her sleeves were tapered at her wrists, revealing the small gold watch she always wore. A blue blouse with little snowflakes peeked out beneath the blazer’s color. Bigby barely had time to appreciate the endearing irony before he noted the alarm in her eyes.

“Snow?” he repeated. “What’s—”

“Bigby! Come with me,” she said swiftly, waving him forward.

He didn’t ask any questions. He snatched his keys off the table by the door and followed her. She set a brisk pace that some might have found punishing. Bigby might have suspected she was angry about something if not for the way he heard her heart pounding in her chest or the fact that she was uncharacteristically and anxiously glancing around the hallway.

“Snow,” Bigby murmured to get her attention. If she heard him, she didn’t react. “Snow!”

“What?” she snapped irritably. “Sorry,” she added just as fast when she saw his faintly wounded expression. “I’m…sorry. What is it, Bigby?”

“Where are we going”?

“Out in front of the building. We have to get there before—” Snow stopped suddenly and jerked back to avoid crashing into a man when they rounded corners at the same time.

“Hi,” the man offered uncertainly when she stared at him.

“Hello,” she replied. She gave a late smile that was no less beautiful than always. “Good morning. Or…evening.”

The man laughed once. “Yeah.”

Snow nodded at him and moved past him quickly, Bigby close at her side. He didn’t have to look at her to sense her tension, but he glanced at her anyway. Not only tense but worried. It took a lot to worry Snow White.

“These walls are paper thin,” she murmured softly, her voice a quiet melody. She stepped closer to him to hit the elevator, lowering her tone even more. Her scent grew stronger until it clouded his thoughts, and he looked away briefly. “We need to be careful,” she continued without noticing. “We’ll talk outside.”

Bigby was certain he could blame the sleep deprivation for rendering him especially idiotic around Snow this morning. He wasn’t normally this…distracted.

The doors slid open, and Snow brushed past him to stand in the too-small elevator. Bigby followed her as she hit the lobby’s button.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly once the doors were closed.

“We’ll talk outside,” she repeated softly, a small crease forming between her eyebrows—the one that only ever showed when something was troubling her.

It was a silent ride down, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one. Her wonderful scent proved more distracting to an almost overwhelming degree—notes of vanilla and jasmine. Bigby resisted the urge to pull out a cigarette to mask it a little. Snow watched the arrow slide across the floor numbers slowly. She shifted her weight nervously, swaying back and forth in a way she hardly ever did. She didn’t fidget with her hands, keeping them calmly at her sides, but Bigby could hear her heart thrumming in her chest wildly. Her edginess was becoming a little contagious, but Bigby was well-practiced in the art of maintaining a cool, calm control—one people had often mistaken for disinterest.

The doors slid open, and Snow was off like a shot, leaving Bigby to half-jog a couple steps to catch up again. Grimble was still asleep at his desk. He’d slumped over a little, his posture less stealthy. Bigby realized the man’s security jacket was missing, but he didn’t have time to reflect on that irony before Snow was wrenching the front door open and breathing out a quiet sigh of relief.

Bigby followed her out to find Grimble’s jacket thrown over a few stairs with care.

He frowned. Snow glanced at him, offering a tense look he knew how to read well. Bigby nodded his understanding and took the steps down. Snow remained at the top, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes flitted across trees as Bigby knelt on the sidewalk in front of the stairs.

He glanced up at Snow once, hoping for some kind of indicator of what he might find under the jacket, but her expression revealed nothing but worry.

Bigby looked at the jacket and then lifted it swiftly.

A woman’s head was waiting on the steps, and Bigby’s lips parted when he recognized her emerald eyes.

“No,” Bigby breathed. The girl’s features were lifeless now, her expression devoid of any trace of the playfulness or sadness from before. The sheriff closed his eyes and raised a hand to them.

Snow was surprised by his reaction. She stepped closer, looking at him concernedly. “You…knew this girl?” she murmured in a soft voice. “Is…she’s not a mundy…right?”

Bigby dropped his hand and shook his head mutely as he stared at the girl.

“Who was she?” I thought…” Snow swallowed. “I thought I knew everyone in Fabletown. She looks familiar, but…I can’t place her.”

“She’s…” Bigby sighed. “She was a working girl.”

Snow frowned. “A working girl?” she repeated, confused. “I don’t…I mean, _I’m_ a working—oh.” Her cheeks flushed a little, and then they blazed when she glanced up at the sheriff. “Wait…how…how did you…?”

“The Woodsman,” Bigby muttered. “He attacked her a few hours ago. I stepped in…He threatened to kill us both.”

Snow’s eyes widened. “Wait, you don’t think he’d…?”

“I don’t think anything yet.” The sheriff shook his head again. “Just…gimme a second.”

Snow dropped her arms and played with her fingers. “It’s just…terrible,” she breathed. “It…took me a second to realize what I was even looking at…”

“You found her?” Bigby asked, glancing up at her.

Snow nodded. “She was just like this. I didn’t touch her. I grabbed Grimble’s jacket just to cover her, and…then…I came to get you.”

“Anybody else see her?”

“No,” Snow murmured. “I mean, not that I know of…Bigby, did one of _us_ do this?”

Bigby sighed, searching her ocean eyes. “There hasn’t been a murder in Fabletown in a long time.”

Snow nodded and crossed her arms again. “All the more reason we shouldn’t start a panic before we know what’s going on.” Her eyes flickered up the gates. Bigby turned to follow her gaze. A couple was walking on the far side of the street, laughing and holding hands—utterly unaware of the horror just a few dozen feet from them. “Have a look around,” Snow suggested quietly. “We don’t have much time before people will be coming through here.” She took the steps down to stand next to Bigby, and her scent grew stronger.

Bigby released a quiet breath, searching the dead girl’s eyes—so playful and sad just mere hours ago—and then he got to work.

He reached forward to close those emerald eyes, cleared his throat, and moved closer to her neck. He frowned at the carnage. “Strange cut,” he muttered. “What did this to her…”

Snow knew he had the habit of talking to himself when he worked, but she replied anyway. “What could do something like that?”

Bigby looked a little closer. “Either something very sharp…or something with magic attached to it. Look, the edges are perfectly straight. It was a quick, clean cut. Skin, muscles, bone—everything cut in one swift—”

“I get it,” Snow said quickly, speaking through her fingers. “Please, Bigby.”

“Right. Sorry.” He made an effort to keep his thoughts to himself as he continued.

Whatever it was had been a little heated, but it hadn’t cauterized the wound all the way through. The edges of the girl’s skin were a little burned and dark from the weapon, but her skin was also deathly pale. She’d obviously bled out somewhere else. There were only traces of blood below her on the stairs and no obvious trail leading up to them.

Bigby scanned the girl slowly. Her lip was still split, but the wound looked a little different than before. He frowned. Her black eye was still mottled black and blue, but it, too, looked a little off. He attributed it to the blood loss. His eyes caught on something between her lips—something thin and purple. “What's…” He reached for it, delicately taking hold of the thin fabric. He pulled it out slowly as Snow watched with a horrified expression.

“What is it?” she breathed, her voice tight.

“It’s…her ribbon,” the sheriff replied with a frown. “She was wearing it around her neck when I—”

Something clacked against her teeth, and he nearly dropped the ribbon. The sheriff lifted a hand to her chin, opening her mouth a little to ease the object out.

“A ring,” he muttered. “Tied to the end of the ribbon.” Bigby lifted hand to turn it around. The ring suddenly scorched his fingers, and he yanked them back with a quiet curse.

“What’s wrong?” Snow asked immediately.

“Nothing. Silver,” he replied.

“Oh…are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The sheriff frowned at the ring. “Some kind of symbol here.” He held it up a little higher for her to see.

Snow leaned down to meet him, her scent growing ever stronger. She reached out hesitantly with pale, slender fingers to hold the ring still. Her eyebrows pulled together, and she twisted her mouth thoughtfully. “Mm…I…I don’t recognize it. But it’s distinctive, and…it definitely looks like something from the Homelands. We’ll check the books when we head inside.”

Bigby nodded. “Good idea.” He went to pocket the ring carefully, but Snow stopped him.

“I’ll take it,” she offered, holding her hand out. 

He gave it to her and then dropped his hand, looking back at the girl. “She was placed here with some care.”

“What do you mean?” Snow murmured.

“Someone didn’t just toss her here. She’s centered perfectly…waiting to be found.”

“What about…her eye? Her lip?”

“Those were already there,” Bigby muttered. “Courtesy of the Woodsman.”

Snow grimaced. “Oh. What, uh…never mind…” She shook her head and crossed her arms once more. “What kind of a monster would do this?”

Bigby stood up slowly, and Snow stepped back to give him space. The sheriff looked down the alley. There were really only three ways the suspect could have entered the courtyard. Well…four. It was negligent to think someone from inside the Woodlands couldn’t have done this.

The sheriff turned to check the front gates first, but a whiff of copper pulled his attention to the left. His eyes caught on a splash of red against the pavement. Snow tried to follow his line of sight, but she didn’t see anything. She twisted her mouth and began tapping her fingers against her arm uncomfortably, her eyes drifting to the head again.

Bigby glanced back at her when he heard her heart pick up again, and she blinked rapidly.

“I…I’m sorry,” she mumbled slowly. “This is just so surreal.”

Bigby sighed in agreement.

Snow’s fingers twitched even more against her arm, tapping out a rhythmless beat. She looked at the sheriff, doing her best to keep her eyes focused on his. “What, uh…” She swallowed. “What do you want to do next?”

“We still have some time. I’ll check the entrances to the Woodlands. Don’t let anyone come through here.”

She nodded firmly. “Okay. Yes. Good idea.”

Bigby saw the expression she tried to fight, and he thoughtlessly stepped a little closer to her. “Hey, Snow,” he said softly. She looked up at him again, her eyes a little wide around the edges. She noticed his gentler tone and tried to stop fidgeting. “You alright?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Thanks…but you should hurry. We…don’t have much time left. People will start leaving. We should head back inside as soon as possible.”

Bigby nodded and walked to the bloodstain down the sidewalk. In some bizarre way in the back of his mind, Bigby liked that Snow felt comfortable enough around him to let her guard down. She rarely reacted to things in the presence of others. Damage from her past had left her rather closed off at times, and she could often be cold or dismissive of others. Bigby had never been surprised by the mask she carefully donned which let little to no emotion through—apart from her sarcasm, of course. But she was different with him. He liked that she didn’t feel the need for the disguise.

The sheriff knelt by the splatter of blood. It was nearly hidden under the cover of trees. This sidewalk led around the building to the alleyway, but there was a tall gate separating the two. It wasn’t nearly as tall as the front gate, though. It wouldn’t take a lot for someone to climb over it. 

Bigby didn’t need to touch the blood to know it was still fresh. He could smell it clearly, and it was still wet, shining in the low light.

“What did you find?” Snow called quietly from the stairs.

“Blood,” he answered, standing and gesturing to a trail. “Several drops. Couldn’t have been here very long. Maybe…half an hour?”

Snow didn’t reply. Bigby followed the trail slowly, looking for any other sign of disturbance. It led around the corner. Bigby frowned at a piece of torn fabric near the gate. Denim—someone’s jeans. It was too thin to be from a jacket. It had a little splatter of blood across the inside but was otherwise clean; it hadn’t been outside long.

The gate separating the courtyard from the alley was lit up from the one light fixture between buildings. One of the gate's iron spikes closest to the wall was coated generously in blood.

Bigby frowned. “Must’ve hopped the fence,” he muttered to himself. “Cut themselves—probably their leg—on the gate, then left the blood trail.” Bigby looked past the fence. “No blood in the alley, so it didn't come from the head…But only one trail, so they didn’t double back…” He turned around, eyeing the front gates. “So then how did they leave?”

Bigby followed the trail back to Snow and then turned left down the main sidewalk. Snow was watching him intently now, avoiding the head as best as she could.

The sheriff searched the pavement, but he didn’t see any other traces of blood. He sniffed the air quietly, confused by the strong scent of copper he was detecting in this direction. It wasn’t until he started searching the grass that he picked the trail up again.

He might have sighed under less grim circumstances. No one respected the sign.

The blood trail continued through the grass, twisting around the trees in a careful, deliberate path. Bigby’s expression darkened. These were the same trees Beauty had been hiding in. If she’d come through here a little later, she would’ve run right into them.

Snow, too, he realized even more grimly.

The trail continued discreetly through the gate. The blood drops were smaller now; they must have realized they were bleeding and made an effort to cover the wound. Not entirely successfully. The trail led to the curb, but it ended there. They must’ve gotten into a car. Whether it was a cab or their own was impossible to determine.

“Shit,” he sighed.

He traced his steps back to the stairs slowly, searching the woods and the sidewalk for anything they might have dropped, but there was nothing else to find.

By the time he returned, he found Snow staring at the head again, her arms impossible tighter. She didn’t see him at first, not until he stopped about a foot away from her.

Her eyes flicked up to his and back down to the head. “We should…move her. Before anyone shows up,” she decided quietly. She lowered her arms and looked at the sheriff again. “We’ll find more in the Business Office. She’ll be in the books. So will the ring’s symbol. I’m sure of it.”

Bigby nodded.

Snow closed her eyes briefly. “You…found a trail, then?”

“Yeah. Someone brought her in from the outside—”

Snow was nodding before he was even finished. “That makes sense. There’s no sign of a struggle. But how do you know?”

In any other circumstance, Bigby might have even smiled. Snow had the endearing habit of cutting him off and then asking him for the same information he was already going to give her. She didn’t even realize she was doing it.

“The blood,” he answered solemnly instead. “Trail led to the fence in the alley.”

“Was it…hers?”

Bigby shook his head. “The suspect’s, I think. One of the gate’s prongs was covered in blood. Someone hopped over, cut themselves in the process. Found this, too.” He held the scrap piece of denim out to her. “Must’ve happened at the same time. Hasn’t been here long.”

“Did they leave the same way?”

“No. Cut through the grass to leave a less obvious trail, or to avoid running into anyone. They went out the front gate.”

Snow shook her head and crossed her arms again. “That’s…Good work, Bigby. So…someone from the outside. Well…at least they didn’t come from the Woodlands.”

Bigby hoped that was true as he knelt by the head again.

Snow stepped closer to him. Her scent eased the tension in his shoulders a little. “I’m…going to have to tell Crane about this.” She didn’t miss the sheriff’s grimace. “As long as King Cole is gone, he’s acting mayor,” she reminded him softly. “He needs to know. And…he’s going to find out anyway, so we may as well get out in front of it. It’ll be worse if he finds out we held it from him.”

Bigby rolled his eyes without meaning to.

“I know you don’t like him,” she added knowingly. A tiny flicker of amusement entered her voice despite the circumstances, and she clung to the brief flutter of normalcy. “But…he’s our boss…for now. This is just part of the job.”

Bigby gave a great sigh. “I guess it’s useless to drag it out.”

He said it so reluctantly that Snow gave his profile a small smile. “That’s how I feel, too,” she murmured gratefully. “I’m sure he won’t be happy, but…it’s just part of the process. Hopefully, he can be rational about it.”

Bigby glanced up at her. “Wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Snow snorted quietly. “I’m not.”

The sheriff gave another quiet sigh and looked back at the head. “I just don’t want him interfering.”

Snow looked down, too, and then she mounted the stairs. “Crane’s not what’s important right now,” she reminded him. “We need to figure out who this girl was so we can find whoever did this. Take her to Dr. Swineheart. He can take a look. I’ll meet you later at the Business Office.”

Bigby watched Snow leave before his gaze fell to the girl’s head. He lifted a hand to her jaw, closed her mouth, and then grabbed the jacket to cover her again. He stared at the large yellow security letters for a long moment, recalling the playful look in her eyes, the sad look she gave him in the alley, and her casual two-fingered wave. He didn’t really know her, it was true, but she seemed like a good kid.

Sure as hell didn’t deserve this.


	3. Chapter 3

The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. Several people were waiting in line outside the Business Office when Bigby rounded the corner. He bypassed them without comment, sighing tiredly. A few glanced up at him, uncertain if his expression was angry _at_ something, or if this was just his usual glower.

Someone at the back of line didn’t care which. “What, are you blind?” the man demanded, pushing off the wall angrily. “You don’t see there’s a line? I been standin’ here a half hour already.” The man stormed over to Bigby, and the sheriff sighed again before he turned around. “But _you_ just get to walk right in?”

Bigby knew the man’s face. He had black hair slicked back, and a gold chain around his neck. A scar lanced across the man’s nose and cheek, and one of his ears was pierced with twin gold rings. He was pretty hard to forget, though he usually kept to himself.

“Must be nice bein’ the sheriff,” he continued bitterly. “Do whatever the fuck you like.”

“I _work_ here, Gren,” Bigby muttered.

Gren gave a false smile. “And what great fuckin’ work you do, Sheriff.”

“Hm. That didn’t feel very genuine.”

Bigby didn’t bother giving the man a chance to reply. He pushed open the door to the Business Office and closed it indifferently with his heel.

As soon as he did, the sheriff heard Snow and someone else arguing back and forth loudly. An angry coil formed in his stomach. Fucking Crane.

“—and _now_ you tell me there’s a _killer_ on the loose?!” Crane spotted Bigby’s approach, but he ignored him. “You two tittering behind my back all the time, making fun of—”

Snow frowned at him exaggeratedly. “What are you even _talking_ about right—”

“I _know_ what you two do behind my back! I’m not blind! And it’s not—”

“Now, wait just a min—”

“And now I have _this_ to deal with!”

“Why are you yelling at me?!” Snow demanded loudly.

“Because _you_ are the one bringing this to me, Miss Snow!” Crane exploded, jabbing a finger at her. “The one who so simply ‘stumbled’ upon this catastrophe _on our very doorstep_! The last thing I need with Mayor Cole away is a hysteria!” Snow moved her hands to her hips, something Bigby knew she only did when she was trying to hold her tongue. “Do you understand me?!”

“Yes,” Snow answered through her teeth. “Of course I do, but—”

“ _Don’t interrupt me, Miss Snow_!”

“You asked me a question!”

“Don’t change the subject! You are to blame for this unpleasantness, Miss Snow!” 

Snow scoffed, her fingers digging deeper into her hips. “I brought this news to you as soon as I could! We have to—” 

“You are trusted to keep thing running smoothly around here! This is a disaster! If you can’t handle your job—”

“Back off, Ichabod,” Bigby barked, stepping closer than he knew the man was comfortable with. “It’s not her fault.”

Snow frowned angrily at the sheriff. “I don’t need your help, Bigby,” she snapped.

He ignored her, glaring at Crane. “Instead of trying to assign blame, maybe we should figure out how to catch the fucker who did this.”

Crane grew impossibly redder in the face. The vein in his forehead bulged as he peered over his spectacles at the sheriff. “Says the man who is _most_ to blame for this catastrophe! How convenient! Coming to Miss Snow’s defense, as usual.”

Bigby’s glare deepened.

“Oh, what, now _him_ , too?!” Snow demanded, crossing her arms. “What the hell did he do, Crane?”

Bigby glanced at her, surprised—both at her tone and her support.

Crane didn’t look at or respond to her at first. Instead, he stormed over to his desk. He grabbed a bottle of antacids and slammed it down bitterly before falling into his chair. “Sheriff,” he said tightly, “you are charged with protecting the citizens of Fabletown. Your failure to do your job cost someone their life and has threatened the safety and stability of this entire community.”

Bigby looked away.

Snow released an angry breath and then walked to Crane’s desk irritably. She sat stiffly in one of the two visitor chairs, smoothing her skirt and folding her hands. The sheriff followed her, standing beside the other chair with his arms crossed.

“Tell me you’ve been doing something,” the deputy mayor said hotly. “Are there any leads? Anything? Anything at all—any _shred_ of evidence you two actually know that the hell you’re doing?! Because right now, I’ve half a mind to fire the both of you!” Snow scoffed and clenched her hands as tightly as she could. “Well?!” Crane shrieked, looking between them. “Have you something?! Tell me you have suspects at least!”

“Persons of interest,” Bigby corrected.

Crane’s expression turned somewhat murderous. “Spare me your technicalities, _Sheriff_. Who the hell is it?”

“The Woodsman and the girl’s pimp.”

Crane blinked in surprise, his cheeks reddening a little. “Her…” He spluttered and swallowed once. “Then…Was she…a…?”

“Yeah,” Bigby answered, frowning at the other man. “She was worried about a…money situation. Didn’t have enough for the night. And I wanna talk to the Woodsman. Apart from me, he was the last known person to see her alive.”

Crane gave a false smile, leaning back in his chair. “Well,” he muttered dryly, “this is just _wonderful_. Not only is a Fable killed, but it was a Fable _hooker_ to boot!”

“Hey,” Bigby snapped. “Wanna try showin’ some respect? A young girl is dead.”

Crane sat up furiously. He scooted closer to his desk to give Bigby and Snow significant looks. “You two need to get a hand on his situation. Quickly and quietly. The last thing we need is all of Fabletown knowing there’s a killer amongst us. Snow!” he added in a bark.

“Yes…sir?” she replied with difficulty.

“Watch your tone. Call Vivian right this minute and let her know I’m coming in early for my…massage.”

Bigby made an effort to not react.

“I will,” Snow said in the same tight tone.

Crane looked around his desk. “Where is the bottle of wine you were to purchase?”

Snow went to point and then stood up. “I put it right—”

“Oh bother,” Crane spat, standing abruptly. “Forget it! Can’t do anything right!”

Snow watched him walk away with a faintly wounded look. Bigby loosened his tie, resisting the urge to say something.

“Do your job, Sheriff!” Crane added as he reached the door. Snow’s eyes flashed over to Bigby. She was aware of the thin line the deputy mayor was walking. “Or I’ll find someone who can.”

Bigby turned around. “Okay, you know what—”

Fingers laced around his arm, and the soft scent of jasmine and vanilla grew stronger. “Stop,” Snow whispered urgently.

Crane whipped back and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “Something to add, _Mr. Wolf_?”

“We’ll get on it right away, sir,” Snow smiled, pulling her hand back to step in front of Bigby.

Crane’s expression darkened even more. He turned around again and slammed the door closed behind him. He started shouting loudly in the hallway, dispersing the waiting crowd rudely and bitterly.

Bigby looked down at the back of Snow’s head with a heavy sigh.

She turned, ocean eyes peering up into his. “You would’ve just pissed him off more,” she shrugged.

“Alright,” the sheriff huffed in response.

Snow realized how close she was and took a casual step back. She placed her hands on her hips and grimaced. “Well…that could’ve gone better. Maybe…maybe we should have dragged it out a bit.”

“For what it’s worth,” Bigby replied, “I still think it was better to tell him. Would’ve been worse if he thought we’d kept something from him.”

“Yeah,” Snow murmured uncertainly. “Maybe.”

Bigby pulled a cigarette from his pocket and flicked open his lighter.

“Oh,” Snow said reflexively, “Crane really don’t like people smoking in his—” Bigby hesitated, brown eyes flicking up to hers. The way he did it, from under his eyelashes, was unintentionally disarming, and Snow flushed a little. “Never mind,” she smiled, waving at the cigarette. “Smoke away.”

The flame flared across his irises, warming the richness of the chocolatey color.

Bigby didn’t notice her gaze as he put his lighter away and inhaled deeply. The strong scent overpowered everything else, and he released a long, somewhat relieved breath away from Snow.

The sheriff leaned against Crane’s desk, took the cigarette between two fingers, and shook his head. “What an asshole,” he grumbled.

“Yep,” Snow agreed. Her eyes drifted a little to his lips around the cigarette, and then she snapped her attention away, crossing her arms. “That was about an eight on the asshole scale.” Her expression pinched in distaste. “ _Asshole_ scale? That doesn’t sound right…”

Bigby snorted, amusement freckling his eyes. He admired the embarrassed tint to her cheeks a second too long before he turned his head to exhale another breath of smoke.

“Is…is he gone?” a hesitant voice called.

Bigby and Snow both glanced at one of the endless lines of bookshelves. A green monkey peered nervously over the edge. The creature’s wings kept him off the ground, fluttering gracefully as his large black eyes flickered around the room anxiously.

“Yes, thankfully,” Snow answered.

The monkey released a relieved huff. He pushed off the shelf, soared over to the others, and landed heavily on Snow’s desk. As soon as she saw what he was holding, Snow scowled.

Without shame, the monkey pried the cork off an expensive blue-labeled bottle and drank from it greedily. Red wine so dark it almost looked black dripped down the creature’s chin and neck.

“Bufkin!” Snow exclaimed, her tone equally exasperated and reprimanding.

The flying monkey jerked a little and set the bottle down so hurriedly that a little wine sloshed out, painting Snow’s desk in red streaks. “Hello, Miss Snow!” he replied in a chipper tone, wiping his chin with one arm. He gave her a smile so endearing that even Bigby was hard-pressed to find fault with the creature.

Snow sighed, but the heat was gone from her voice when she spoke again. “Drinking? _This_ early? Where did you even get that?”

“It was by Mr. Ichabod’s desk,” Bufkin responded innocently.

Snow moved her hands to her hips, raising an eyebrow. “Then…don’t you think it _probably_ belongs to him?”

Bufkin’s face fell a little at first, but then he gave another winsome smile. “Maybe,” he allowed slowly.

Snow sighed again, unable to maintain her anger. Instead, she recorked the bottle and returned it to the deputy mayor’s desk.

Bufkin flashed his grin at the sheriff. “How are you today, Mr. Bigby?”

“I’m fine, Bufkin. Thanks for asking.”

The flying monkey’s smile widened.

“Bufkin,” Snow called. “Get the books.”

“Which books, Miss White?”

“The ones with all the Fables in it!” she snapped impatiently.

Bigby hummed, glancing at her as he leaned against the edge of her desk again. “Not sure that was any more specific.”

Snow conceded with a heavy sigh. “Bring…the first three.”

“Be back in a few minutes!” Bufkin said cheerfully. He leapt into the air and took flight once more, soaring over their heads and disappearing down the long hall of archived books.

“He knows the ones I mean,” Snow murmured when Bigby gave her a somewhat amused look. “There’s bound to be some information on her here…somewhere.”

The sheriff nodded in response as he gazed past her to the library.

The large, magical oak tree in the center was black against the lights behind it. Thick branches twisted through each other to the domed ceiling. The witches on the thirteenth floor had enchanted the office and the archives shortly after the Woodlands had been built, giving the massive room far more space than the building’s exterior suggested. The result was breathtaking; even Bigby couldn’t deny that. Shelves upon shelves of books rose up impossibly high to where even ladders couldn’t safely reach; those were reserved for Bufkin’s retrieval alone. Bigby couldn’t make the books on the back shelves out from this far; they just became a blur of reds and browns. The vaulted ceiling had been painted, depicting all manner of ancient things that had once belonged to the Fables. In the center of the painting was the same oak tree that rested in the middle of the archives—one of the more important objects they were able to bring with them during the Exodus.

The library didn’t appear to be anything other than what it was—otherworldly and ancient. The books held on those shelves dated as far back as the oldest Fables’ histories. Many of them were handwritten one-of-a-kinds. There existed in this library a book on every Fable here, tales from the Homelands that had survived the journey. Despite the seemingly endless number they’d managed to transport, it was never enough. A great many Fables still bemoaned the loss of even one priceless book from the Homelands.

As remarkably extensive as the library was, it didn’t contain a single mundy book. It especially didn’t contain mundy fairytales. Most Fables couldn’t stand the fanciful, romanticized versions the mundies had chosen to record about their storied, often traumatic, lives. Snow especially despised those tales, particularly her own.

Bigby moved his hand back to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray Snow kept on her desk. He knew she didn’t smoke; it was a testament to how often they worked together that she’d started keeping one around in the first place.

Snow was chewing absently on her thumbnail, another nervous tic she had. “Hopefully, we’ll at least be able to get the girl’s real name from the books…if Bufkin ever decides to return with them,” she complained softly. “In the meantime…maybe the mirror can help?”

Bigby gave a heavy sigh. “Do I have to talk to it?”

Snow smiled at him. It was a mischievous smile that usually meant trouble for him. “I really have to get this _appointment_ taken care of,” she sighed, feigning regret. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d be ever so grateful, Mr. Wolf.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes. “It always makes me rhyme.”

Her smile grew even more playful. “Then I regret missing it. Need anything?”

“Yeah. Got a thesaurus?”

“Something in particular you need to rhyme?”

“No. I just want something heavy to hit it with.”

Snow laughed. The sound was a rich, lovely melody that rang through the room and bounced softly off the walls. “I think I prefer you unarmed around that thing.”

Bigby snorted quietly and watched her walk away. His gaze lingered too long, and he frowned at himself, pushing off her desk to walk to the mirror. Snow’s voice drifted over to him as she got on the phone. He glanced back in time to see her twist her forefinger around the cord as she talked. Of all her absentminded habits, that was one of his favorites.

Bigby rubbed the back of his neck as he stopped near the mirror. The glass was smooth and quiet for the moment—utterly unextraordinary at first glance. Its gilded frame was the only thing that even vaguely hinted at exceptional origins.

“Hey,” the sheriff muttered indelicately. “Magic Mirror. I got a question.”

The mirror gave a weary sigh. In an instant, the smooth glass flamed green. Bigby’s reflection was replaced with a dark, shadowed figure. Though it had few easily identifiable features, Bigby was familiar enough with the damned thing to recognize when it was giving him a disapproving look. Bigby rarely got an any other kind.

“You know the rule,” the mirror simply hummed in response.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” Bigby grumbled. “Just—”

“Your impatience is callow, you’re needlessly cruel, but _do_ have some respect for our history rules.”

Bigby shook his head at the ceiling and then crossed his arms. When he spoke again, it was through his teeth. “Mirror, mirror…if you’re…able, tell me all about this Fable.”

“See? Was that so hard?”

“Yeah, I’m about two seconds away from kicking a hole in you.”

“No need for that,” the mirror mused. “Fine. Of which Fable do you wish to know?”

“Don’t know her name yet, but will a description work?”

“Are you asking _me_ to give a name?”

“Yep. Will a description work or not?”

“Unfortunately, no. Without her name, I cannot know.”

“Fine. What about the Woodsman?”

The mirror fluttered. The silhouette faded into the shadows, and the mirror darkened. In the blink of an eye, the glass changed. It peered, like a window, onto a dirty sidewalk somewhere in the city. Bigby could see part of a red and green neon sign at the top corner of the image, but the letters were unintelligible from the angle. The sheriff frowned when the Woodsman came staggering into view, clutching a whiskey bottle in one hand. Woody swerved left and drunkenly ran into a wall before he managed to correct his path. The wound on the back of his head had been bandaged sometime within the last several hours, and he’d changed clothes, but he still looked like shit.

“Where is he?”

“What you see is complete. The Woodsman stumbles down a street.”

“Yeah, no shit. _Which_ street?”

“I’m sorry, Bigby. I can only show you what can be seen. Is there another wish you to see?”

“No. I guess that’s it for now.”

“Very well. Please return should you wish to ask about someone else…or someone new.”

Bigby frowned. “That didn’t rhyme.”

“ _I_ don’t have to rhyme. _You_ do. That _is_ our history rule.”

The sheriff rolled his eyes with another heavy sigh and turned away from the mirror. At the same time, Bufkin came soaring overhead too fast. He was weighed down with three large, thick books, disrupting his flight. Two of the tomes were held in his arms, but the third was hanging perilously between his teeth. One of the books in his arms suddenly slipped when his wings hesitated. It fell to the ground with a loud thud. Bufkin tried to save it, but he dropped the one in his mouth, too, and then they were all careening down with a shriek.

“Whoa, hey!” Bigby called, instinctively catching the monkey.

“Ah!” Bufkin gasped, his tiny hands gripping Bigby’s arm for dear life. He sighed out and then released the sheriff, letting his wings take over once more. “Thank you, Mr. Bigby! That would have been unpleasant!”

Snow jerked around at the sound worriedly. She concluded the phone call quickly and came over. “Are you alright, Bufkin?” she called in her melodic tone.

Bigby reached down to pick up two of the tomes while the monkey lifted the third to the closest table. “Oh, yes, Miss Snow! Mr. Bigby saved me from great harm!”

The sheriff snorted. “Six whole feet.”

“I’m a small creature, Mr. Bigby,” Bufkin shrugged. “Six feet’s a bigger deal to me than you.”

Bigby knew the creature was being deliberately facetious, but he didn’t get a chance to comment.

“You have the books!” Snow realized, lurching to the table eagerly. “Excellent! Let’s look through them.”

“What are we looking for exactly, Miss Snow?”

“This ring’s symbol,” she answered swiftly. She reached into her blazer pocket and produced the ribbon and the ring. She set them both on the table close to the monkey.

“And a girl,” Bigby said. “Black hair, green eyes. I don’t know her name or anything else about her.”

“Ah,” Bufkin mused dryly. “Should be simple.”

“We’ll find her,” Snow murmured distractedly, already thumbing through her book.

“Mind handing me that one, Snow?” Bigby asked quietly, gesturing to the one near her elbow.

“Oh, sorry!” She lifted it up and over quickly.

“Thanks.” Bigby opened the book halfway through and saw the elegant writing. He flipped through several more pages, passing back and forth before he sighed heavily. “Fuck.”

“What is it, Mr. Bigby?” Bufkin wondered, peering over.

“I can’t read any of this shit.”

The monkey hopped across the table gracefully. “I can help! Point out the ones you want to know.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bigby mumbled, leaning over the book again.

“We look out for each other!”

“Don’t overdo it.”

Snow smiled, her eyes flickering up to the sheriff briefly.

“What’s this one say?” he wondered, gesturing to what appeared to be a Celtic knot of tree branches.

Bufkin titled his head, reading the words upside down. “Hm…an exquisite design from…the good china of…Toad Hall.”

“Hm. Wait, _Mr._ Toad?”

Bufkin made a face. “He probably wrote this in himself.”

Bigby flipped through another few pages silently. His eyes caught on a familiar symbol, and his expression darkened.

“Ah, the North Wind,” Bufkin hummed carelessly.

Snow glanced up at Bigby again briefly before she returned to her own search.

“What’s this?” Bigby muttered gruffly, gesturing quickly to something else. He only looked at it after he spoke, realizing it was a diagram of someone in a long animal cloak.

Bufkin cocked his head. “It says…’Bricklebit’ in an older Elvish hand.”

“What’s Bricklebit?”

“A magic word.”

Bigby sighed. “What does it do?”

“Makes animals shit gold,” Bufkin answered with a shrug.

Bigby stared at him. For the life of him, he honestly couldn’t tell if the monkey was joking. Bufkin neither smiled nor nodded; he simply returned the sheriff’s blank stare. Bigby frowned at him and returned to his book.

He flipped through hundreds of pages. He scanned swords and dragons, shields and rings, bracelets and amulets—each with their own unique sigils and crests—without even coming close to the one he was searching for. Bufkin waited beside him and casually perused his own book, peering over whenever Bigby asked the occasional question.

Snow looked up from her book after a while of silence to glance at the others. Bufkin was bobbing his head to some tune in his mind while he worked. His black eyes read the pages before him complacently. He seemed to be genuinely enjoying the complicated task. Bigby’s eyebrows were pulled together concentratedly as he scanned dozens of symbols on each page. Snow’s gaze fell a little to the way Bigby was leaning against the table, his hands resting on either side of his tome. She’d always liked the casual way he wore his shirts with the sleeves rolled up. His hands were folded into loose fists on the table’s surface. The muscles in his forearms were relaxed for the moment but still prominent.

Snow was amused to realize that Bigby looked faintly annoyed with his task. The sheriff was many things, but she’d never known him to be particularly patient. He reached up with one hand to loosen his tie, giving his usual sigh as he worked. Snow liked the way he wore that, too. Though she chose her own work clothes with care, there was something about Bigby’s relaxed style that was undeniably endearing. His untucked shirts, loose ties, rolled sleeves, open collars—it bordered on unprofessional. Snow supposed she should have tried to enforce some manner of dress code for Fabletown’s sheriff. Crane had certainly complained about it enough, both behind Bigby’s back and to his face. Snow knew Bigby would do it if she asked him to, but there was something disarming about his casual stance, something that appealed not only to her but to others, as well. He didn’t have the look of a government man, and Snow had always secretly suspected that was one of the many reasons he’d been democratically voted in and trusted by the Fables to protect them.

Bigby’s eyes suddenly lit up, and then he scowled. A false positive. He lifted a hand to his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose—a sure sign he was getting frustrated. A few strands of his brown hair fell into his eyes, and he swept them back absentmindedly.

Snow realized she was staring. She cleared her throat softly and returned to her book, flipping through the page swiftly.

“Hey, look,” Bufkin suddenly said, pointing at the page Bigby was scanning.

“What?” the sheriff grumbled. His irritated tone made Snow smile again.

“The axe!”

“The Woodsman’s axe? What about it?”

“It’s a Druid blessing, there on the—”

Bigby frowned. “Someone _blessed_ that thing?”

Bufkin shrugged, already returning to his search, as if he wasn’t the one to bring it up.

The sheriff shook his head and kept flipping. He made it another dozen or so pages before he stopped. “Wait, here,” he said. “This is it—this is the ring. Where’s the symbol from? Which family or story?”

Bufkin frowned at it. “Huh. That’s an odd one. A family name, perhaps?”

“What does it say?”

“All…All-lair-lie-rau?” the monkey guessed, slowly sounding it out. Snow’s head snapped up. “Hm. I’ll have to look it up…”

“Allerleirauh,” Snow said as Bufkin flipped through his book. Her tone was more honeyed than usual, rendering the unfamiliar word beautiful and natural on her tongue.

Bigby looked up at her. “You recognize it?”

“It means ‘every kind of fur’ in German.”

The sheriff frowned.

“Here, look at this,” Snow said, gesturing to her book. Bigby walked around the table. He rested one arm on the table and looked over Snow’s shoulder. “Maybe she’s in here. It’s got…almost everyone in it,” she murmured, glancing sideways at the sheriff.

Bigby admired the two-page painting. It had some of the more well-known Fables front and center, along with several dozen more in the background.

Bigby grimaced at the first one he saw—a massive black wolf with bright, yellow eyes. Facing the wolf was a plaid-shirted man with a large silver axe poised for attack. A young woman in a red cloak was hiding behind the Woodsman, ducking in fear as the two prepared to fight.

“You and the Woodsman,” Snow murmured quietly when she followed his gaze.

“Mm. Wonder what the story is now,” he muttered.

Snow didn’t comment, but she did glance at him to gauge his reaction. He didn’t offer much of one, just a small frown before moving on.

His eyes fell—inadvertently—to the next person in the mural. A young, fair-skinned woman with raven black hair and bright blue eyes. She stood in the center of seven dwarves, a demure smile on her red lips. She was clad in a thin, blue dress, her eyes busy admiring the shiny, red apple in her fingers.

It was Snow’s turn to frown. “I…guess that’s supposed to be me,” she sighed with an almost embarrassed note in her tone.

“Least you’re a person in yours,” Bigby mumbled.

Snow returned to the massive wolf’s portrait. He was easily the largest figure in the painting, but the artist still hadn’t done him justice—not by half. She remembered meeting Bigby for the first time—though he had really only gone as the Big Bad Wolf back then. He’d burst into a massive tent where she was being held prisoner. He was larger than an elephant, yellow eyes wild around the edges. She hadn’t known what to expect from him at the time, but she’d heard the great wolf fighting men outside her makeshift cell, and she knew enough of the wolf’s history to know no weapon could kill him. Instead of attempting something stupid, she’d decided to try something bold. She’d held her cuffs out to the wolf, watching him without even a flicker of fear. To her, he was a preferable beast to those who had taken her hostage; if he meant to offer her death, at least it would be a swift one. The wolf had watched her for a long moment, as if transfixed, and then he had taken her chains between his teeth with care and broken them. He’d left before she could even think of thanking him.

It wasn’t until years later that she’d found him again and invited him to join her and the rest of the Fables on the Exodus—a decision that hadn’t earned her many friends at the time. That was the first time, in his centuries’ long life, that he’d been given the ability to shift into a human form. It had been a rough adjustment for him at first, but he’d handled it surprisingly well.

Snow hadn’t seen his true wolf form since the day she’d cut him with a lycanthrope-stained knife, giving him the ability to shift at will. She knew he didn’t like talking about his past, and she’d never pressed him for details. The point of coming to Fabletown, of undergoing an Exodus in the first place, was to leave the past where it lay, to have the chance to start again. Not everyone respected that, but Snow had made a promise to herself that she would.

If someone like _Bluebeard_ was granted a clean slate in the New World, then Bigby deserved one, too.

“Beauty, in happier days,” Bigby muttered, drawing Snow from her thoughts. She followed his gesture to a beautiful blonde woman in a flowing red gown holding a mask to her lover. “Oh, and her…man. Beast.”

Snow’s lips twitched at his tone. “Funny.”

Bigby looked at another collection of Fables. “Huh. Colin and his brothers.”

Snow grimaced. “At least _they_ stay on the Farm. How many times has Colin broken out?”

“I’ve lost count,” Bigby admitted, his gaze travelling further down the page. He didn’t make it far before he involuntarily rolled his eyes and sighed.

“What?” Snow wondered, looking over again.

“Ichabod Crane,” he grumbled. “Scared shitless.” In the depiction, Crane was fleeing on foot into the trees with a headless horseman hot on his trail. “Your boss’ finest moment.”

Snow snorted in response, stepping a little closer to Bigby to see the rest of the Fables.

“Hard to understand how he ended up running this place,” Bigby added, shaking his head.

Snow spared him a glance, and he met her eyes. “Well…maybe it’s time that changed.”

Bigby registered a flicker of determination in her ocean eyes—at least, he hoped so. She was what Fabletown needed and deserved. Someone who really cared, and all that cliché stuff. 

Snow broke eye contact first, returning to the mural quietly.

Bigby’s gaze fell on Toad and Badger near the edge of the page. He’d never seen Toad look so dapper. “Nice hat,” he remarked dryly before glancing at the other creature. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Badger likes his privacy, I think.”

“Wish Toad would like his a bit more.”

Snow snorted. “Hm. Cindy,” she mused.

Bigby followed her gesture to a fair-haired woman in a long blue gown. Her eyes were turned downward, her gloved hand held by Prince Charming.

Bigby glanced at Snow discreetly, but she deliberately didn’t react to her ex-husband. “Is, uh…Cindy still away?”

“Apparently,” Snow murmured, moving on to the next pair. “Hm. Look, in the background.”

“Which one?”

“On the shore. It’s, uh…damn, I know that one…”

Bigby glanced at the shoreline to see a woman half-submerged in the ocean. Her long, mahogany hair fell down her front, and her green tail sparkled above the waves as she watched a man onshore. “The mermaid?”

“Yeah, that’s it. The Little Mermaid. I can’t remember her real name, though.”

Bigby couldn’t, either. He knew little of her story, only that it ended sadly, like many of the others. The man she sacrificed everything for left her after a few short months. The Little Mermaid had disappeared after that; he wasn’t sure what had become of her. Her story was just one primary example of why most Fables detested their mundy counterparts. In reality, Fables didn’t get happy endings.

“Wait, look,” Snow suddenly said, pointing to three people near the bottom of the illustration.

The tallest was an older man with grey hair wearing the kind of crown reserved for kings. The symbol from the ring was unmistakably stitched into his elegant robes. The king was looking at a young man with long black hair. The young man’s hand was resting on a woman kneeling between them both. Her face was well-hidden by a long, thick donkey-skin cloak, but the hand pressed to her stomach caught Bigby’s eye. Around her slender middle finger was a small but recognizable silver ring.

“It’s the same one,” Bigby said, pointing to it.

“Is this her father?” Snow wondered, gesturing to the older man. “And her husband, perhaps? Or…brother? Maybe we can—”

“Donkeyskin,” Bufkin mumbled with a frown in his voice.

“Yes!” Snow exclaimed eagerly. She rounded Bigby to read over the monkey’s shoulder. “What does it say?”

Bufkin cleared his throat as the sheriff joined them and began. “It says, ‘Donkeyskin girl, AKA Donkeyskin, AKA _Ass’_ skin—’” Bufkin cackled. Snow glared at him, and he cleared his throat again to continue. “‘—prefers to go by the name Faith.’”

“Faith,” Bigby repeated grimly.

“Mhm. Poetic.”

“Bufkin,” Snow snapped. “We don’t need the commentary. Just read it.”

Bufkin smirked to himself. When he started reading again, his voice was no less teasing. “The story of Donkeyskin. ‘There was once a great king with a beautiful queen. The queen grew ill and, on her deathbed, had her husband promise to only marry the most beautiful girl in the kingdom. After a long search, it became clear that the only woman in the land that could match her beauty was—’” Bufkin’s eyes widened, and his tone lost all trace of humor. “‘—his…daughter. Faith. She…had a magic cloak made from…the skin of her father’s most prized donkey…that would hide her beauty so she could escape his kingdom. Eventually…she married a prince who could see past the magic cloak and knew her true beauty…and they lived happily ever after.’”

Silence weighed heavily over the trio. Snow glanced at Bigby as he closed his eyes.

Bufkin looked down at the table. “Should I…mark it, Miss Snow?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she replied solemnly. “Please.”

Bufkin picked up an ink stamp from the table. He wetted the end of it and then slapped it across the girl’s biography. Bigby stared at the word—thick, red letters that dispassionately declared the young woman deceased—and then he glanced at her emerald eyes in the biography’s picture.

Bigby shook his head, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“What’s her husband’s name?” Snow murmured softly.

“Lawrence,” Bufkin answered after checking. “Prince Lawrence.”

The sheriff turned around and walked a few feet away. Snow watched him go, recognizing the tension in his shoulders easily enough. She knew what he was thinking, but she also knew there was nothing she could say to make him change his mind.

Bufkin glanced at Bigby and Snow before looking down again.

“Well,” Snow said after a quiet moment. “We…got what we came for.”

“Yeah,” Bigby replied in a flat tone.

Snow began closing books slowly. “Her name’s Faith. She’s married to Prince Lawrence. I mean, it’s more than we—”

“Name _was_ Faith,” Bigby muttered.

Snow looked up at him. “Yeah…”

The sheriff let out a long breath, and then he turned back to the others. “I’m gonna go talk to the husband.”

“You think he did it?”

“No,” the sheriff answered quietly. “I don’t. But I…need to let him know about his wife.”

Snow searched Bigby’s expression. It was carefully neutral, but she knew him well enough to read beyond the façade. His eyes fell to the stamped word on the girl’s page again, his eyebrows pulling together almost imperceptibly.

Snow knew it wasn’t her job; it wasn’t even remotely within the same _realm_ as her job. No doubt Crane would get pissed if he returned to an empty office, but she took one more look at Bigby and made up her mind. “I’m coming with you.”

Bigby was shaking his head before she’d even finished. “You don’t have to do—”

“I’m coming with you,” she repeated more firmly.

Bigby didn’t have the energy to argue. He realized he didn’t want to, either. “I’ll ask the mirror where to find him.”

“Let me.”

“It’s okay, Snow,” he replied. “I’ll do it.”

Snow watched him go silently and then turned back to the books. “Bufkin, help me try to find the address in case the mirror can’t help.”

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes as he stopped before the gilded frame. “Need you to find someone.”

“You know the rules. Without a—”

“I don’t fucking have—” Bigby released a breath and started over more calmly. “Would you just show me? Please,” he added with difficulty through his teeth.

The mirror gave a long sigh. “Who is it?”

“Prince…” Bigby looked down and then back up. “Show me Faith.”

The mirror didn’t change. When it spoke, its tone had dropped ominously. “Through powerful magic, her whereabouts concealed. Unfortunately for you, these lips are sealed.”

Bigby blinked. “What?”

“These lips are sealed. It’s not my choice of phrasing, Bigby. It’s simply the way this has to be.”

“What do you mean? You can’t locate her?”

“A magic more powerful than mine keeps her location from thine. That is all I can say.”

“That phrase. ‘These lips are sealed.’ Faith said it to me. What does it mean?”

“It means what it says. I cannot say, and neither could she.”

Bigby scowled at the mirror. “Fine. Show me Prince Lawrence.”

The reflection darkened and opened on a dim living room. The tight angle revealed the back of an old, ratty armchair. A TV flickered in the corner, its blue glare providing the only light, despite the morning hour. A pale hand was dangling limply over the arm of the chair, fingers unmoving in the still room. Bigby could see feet resting on the carpet and, beside them, a flash of a silver blade coated in red.

“Where is this?” Bigby demanded. 

“Where’s what?” Snow called from across the room.

The sheriff looked at her. “Do you know where Prince Lawrence lives?”

“No, he’s not listed. But…if he’s a prince… _probably_ relocated to the South Bronx. Yellow building, red window shutters?”

Bigby frowned and then nodded in recognition. “Rogers Street.”

“Yep, that’s the one. 11…72, I think? We’ll get a cab and—”

“You don’t have to come, Snow. It’s…it won’t be—”

“I want to come. I’m part of this now, too. Come on, we don’t have a lot of time.” She marched ahead of him. She was at the door when the phone rang shrilly. Her fingers twitched above the knob, and then she sighed heavily. “Sorry, I have to get that. One second.”

Bigby nodded and leaned against the half-wall near the door. He crossed his arms, staring at the design of the floor’s tiles.

Snow caught the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello,” she murmured warmly, “Woodlands Business Off…yes? Oh…” Snow covered the bottom half of the phone to sigh loudly. “Mhm. No, I understand. Of course. Mhm...yes, he’s here. Just a moment.” She lowered the phone and gave Bigby a tired look.

“What’s wrong?” he wondered.

“It’s Toad,” she said. “He wants to talk to you.”

Bigby rolled his eyes and came across the room. He took the phone and rested it between his ear and shoulder, using his hand to rub the bridge of his nose. “Yeah?”

“Bigby! It’s me, Toad.” Something crashed in the background, muffling Toad’s words a little. “You there?”

“Sorry about the car, Toad.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Bigby, shit, listen, right? There’s a bloke upstairs goin’ through all the Woodsman’s things.”

“So?” Bigby muttered after a minute of silence. He leaned against Snow’s desk. She crossed her arms, and he shook his head at her vaguely.

“So!” Toad scoffed. “The—look, you just gotta get ‘ere, alright? It’s your feckin’…wait, hang on.” Something else crashed, and Toad cursed.

Bigby sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Snow watched him curiously. “Toad.” Something else crashed, and the sheriff released an impatient huff. “Toad, are you familiar with the boy who cried—”

“This ain’t the time for your deadpan sense’a 'umor—just—get o’er ‘ere, will ya! Fer feck’s sake!”

“Toad, you have me coming over to your building every other day with some new emergency that almost invariably ends with—”

“I know 'ow it bloody well ends! Trust me, mate. 'Ang on…Oi!” Toad shouted, his voice far away. “Shit. Oi! What do you—”

The line dropped, and the dial tone buzzed in Bigby’s ear.

“What was that about?” Snow wondered.

Bigby dropped the phone back on the hook, rubbing his eyes. “Toad’s got some new problem. He wants me to head over there.”

Snow rolled her eyes. “What about Faith’s husband? What’d you see?”

Bigby grimaced. “It…didn’t look good. Thought I saw a bloody knife. He could be in trouble. We also need to search her apartment anyway, and I’d…rather Lawrence didn’t hear about this from someone in town. Toad’ll…just have to wait for a while.”

“Did everything look okay there last night?”

Bigby snorted and pushed off the desk. “Define okay.”

Snow followed him through the office. “Did Toad sound like it was an emergency? _Can_ it wait?”

“I don’t know,” the sheriff admitted. He reached forward and pulled the door open for Snow distractedly. She smiled in thanks before leading the way down the hall. “I never know with him. Sometimes…like last night, it’s serious. But more often, it’s just a waste of my time. And he’s always out of goddamn glamour. Honestly…” Bigby shook his head again as Snow hit the elevator button. “I just don’t have the energy to deal with him again right now. Whatever Toad’s problem is will…keep for a few hours.”

Snow nodded. “You’re right. Toad’s a tough…toad. He can handle himself for a little while.”

“He’ll have to.”

Outside, the heat was sweltering. Snow grimaced, and Bigby loosened his tie a little as they walked. The shade of the trees provided a little relief, but once they emerged onto the concrete sidewalk past the gates, it felt like a furnace.

Bigby hailed a cab with one arm and then sighed. “Shit. I don’t have any cash on me.” 

Snow resisted the urge to smile. “I’ve got it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. Really.” She glanced at him sideways as the cab slowed. His voice was flatter than usual, and there were dark circles under his chocolate eyes. “Are you alright? You…you look drained.”

“Just tired. Been a while since I slept.”

Snow frowned. “Well…try to rest a little on the drive,” she insisted when the cab stopped. “There’ll be a lot of traffic this early anyway.”

Bigby gave a vague shrug and got the door.

Snow slid to the far side of the ripped seats, and the sheriff followed her in. He fell heavily with another sigh.

“Where to, folks?” the driver asked, glancing at them in the rearview mirror.

“South Bronx,” Snow answered. “1172 Rogers Street.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was streaming brilliantly and blindingly into the stifling cab. They were stalled in traffic backed up by roadwork. The air-conditioning blowing full blast seemed like a waste of gas; the sun outmatched it by more than half. Despite the heat, Bigby hadn’t even stirred for over an hour. Snow glanced at him discreetly again. She was certain he hadn’t _actually_ meant to fall asleep when he’d said he was “just going to rest his eyes,” but she was glad he had. He needed it. He never took good care of himself, especially when he was working. It was one of the few things she and Colin agreed on.

Bigby’s elbow was pressed against the windowsill. His long fingers were stretched over his eyes, blocking the light as he propped his head up. If he hadn’t been breathing so evenly and deeply, Snow might have imagined he was just deep in thought. She couldn’t see much of his face other than his jaw, but he looked peaceful, his usual grimace gone for now.

She turned away before either he or the cab driver noticed her preoccupation. She glanced at her watch and leaned back further into her seat, draping one arm across her stomach. The divider between the front and back halves of the car was pulled closed, separating them from the driver’s occasional curse.

It took a great deal longer to reach the South Bronx than it should have. The usual morning traffic jam had been made even worse by a couple separate accidents and some unrelated roadwork that slowed their progress to a crawl. Though it was maddening to Snow, who had a proclivity for impatience, she was glad at least _someone_ was benefiting from the delay. Despite the car horns, the shouting, and the street vendors, Bigby didn’t move a muscle. Something about that made Snow a little sad. She’s always imagined, due to his history, that he’d be a relatively light sleeper. Either she was wrong, or the sheriff was far more sleep deprived than she’d thought.

It wasn’t until they were nearing their destination that Bigby finally stirred, as if roused by some internal alarm. Snow watched him from the corner of her eye, a small, amused smile pulling at her lips.

Bigby inhaled deeply, running his fingers across his eyes and face as he tilted his head back. He looked out the window into the intermittent rays of the sun with difficulty.

“Good morning,” Snow hummed, her tone far more entertained than she’d intended.

Bigby huffed something like a tired snort. “Shit, sorry, Snow,” he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly.

Snow shook her head and looked out the window with her arms crossed. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

Bigby surprised her with a quiet chuckle, and she smiled to herself. The sheriff covered his eyes again with a quiet sigh. His short nap hadn’t made him feel any better; if anything, it somehow made his exhaustion even more prominent. He needed some coffee. He would’ve settled for a cigarette, but he didn’t want to trap Snow with the smoke. Instead, he kept his eyes closed and tilted his head back again.

It wasn’t too much longer before the cab lurched to a New York stop, and Snow leaned forward to offer the driver payment. Bigby worked his way out of the backseat stiffly, and Snow followed him a second later. She closed the door while the sheriff stretched a little.

She folded her hands, peering up at the yellow and red building. It could have been nicer, especially for a townhouse complex designated for formal royalty, but she supposed she’d also seen worse.

Realizing what they were about to do made Snow uncomfortable. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and then glanced at the sheriff decisively. “Let’s not stay here any longer than we have to, so…let’s just pick an approach and stick to it, okay?”

Bigby wasn’t sure what she was implying.

“Just…humor me.”

“Sure, Snow. Magic Mirror showed a bloody knife inside. Pretty sure that’s what I saw, anyway.”

Snow grimaced at the idea. “Well…like I said, let’s not overcomplicate things. You can question him while I look around.”

“And if he objects?”

“We are here on official Fabletown business. And…we can be persuasive, if necessary.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Or… _you_ can?”

Bigby didn’t know what she meant by _that_ either, but he nodded anyway. “Alright. Let’s get this over with then.”

They walked up the few steps to the townhouse’s front door. It was a tight fit on a narrow porch intended for one, but Snow stayed beside Bigby, her waist brushing against the railing and her elbow on Bigby’s. The sheriff knocked softly on the door, but there was no response. He tried again a little harder. The flimsy door rattled in the frame gently. Still nothing. He went for the knob, but it was locked tight.

“Lawrence,” he called through the door with another pounding knock. “Sheriff’s department. Open up.” He waited for a long moment. “Lawrence, are you in there? It’s Snow White and Bigby Wolf. We need to talk to you.” Another few moments passed in silence. “It’s important.” Nothing. “About your wife.” There wasn’t even a shuffle inside.

Bigby scratched at his jaw and sighed. He turned around and took the stairs back down. Snow followed him uncertainly when he started looking at the windows. She couldn’t say she was necessarily enthused about the direction this was taking, but…

The front windows were covered well and sealed shut. Bigby rounded the building to the bay on the side. One of those windows was cracked. The sheer curtain on the other side fluttered in the breeze gently. Bigby got closer and bent over a little to see inside.

Snow glanced around, smiling weakly and waving at a man with a dog. “Forgot our keys,” she explained. Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized she’d made them a couple in that scenario, but Bigby didn’t appear to have noticed.

Every wave of the curtain gave him a new view—a cluttered couch, the blue glare from the television, an old rug, a blue armchair, a man slumped into it. On the ground, blood and a silver knife.

“Lawrence!” he called through the window. The man didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. “Shit, we gotta go in there.”

“What did you see? Is he in there?”

“He’s not moving.”

“Shit,” Snow muttered, surprisingly the sheriff. She hardly ever cursed. She glanced around the street and then nodded. “Okay, lift it up. It’s clear.”

Bigby gripped the window and forced it all the way up. The wood frame screeched in protest, swollen in the heat. Bigby pulled himself up and through the window, falling a little clumsily over the cluttered couch pushed up to the sills. Magazines slid to the floor in a heap, but the smell hit him first. A sense of dread distracted him until Snow caught his attention again.

“Come on,” she whispered urgently. “Help me up.”

Bigby brushed the curtain to one side and reached for her hand. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his fingers. She gripped his fingers tightly, and he leaned around the couch to take her arm, too. She tried to use the sill to help lift herself, but, to her surprise, Bigby pulled her up with ease. She tucked her legs in, careful with the skirt she was wearing. He brought her to the sill, and she twisted her feet in first and ducked under the window. Bigby helped her over the couch carefully. When her heels clicked against the checkered floor, he politely released her, but he could still feel her hand on his even when she stepped away.

It was dark inside the small townhouse, and the smell grew more overpowering, clearing Bigby’s mind of anything else. Snow raised a hand to her mouth, breathing shallowly through her fingers. The television was still flickering, blue light sporadically flashing across the small room. Bigby saw the knife again in a pool of blood, but there was also a gun with an empty shell casing next to it.

Bigby and Snow rounded the blue chair in the center of the room slowly, both knowing exactly what they would find. It didn’t make it any easier when they stopped and stared down.

Lawrence was pale and lifeless, his eyes staring unseeingly ahead. Snow pressed her other hand to her stomach, though it was far from the first body she’d encountered. One of Lawrence’s arms was draped over the side of the armchair, and Bigby saw at once where the pool of blood on the floor had come from. There was a deep, vertical cut along the inside of the man’s wrist, but there was a bullet hole in his chest, too—one had that bled heavily.

“Oh God,” Snow breathed in a thick voice. “We’re too late.” She shook her head and looked away. Her gaze fell almost instinctually on Bigby, taking comfort in the sheriff despite his grim expression. “This makes two Fables dead…what the hell is going on here? Who…who would do this to them?”

“I don’t know, Snow,” Bigby answered quietly, his eyes fixed on the body.

Snow turned away, searching for anything else to occupy her attention. She walked to the front door where a pile of mail was haphazardly piling up beneath the mail slot. While she crouched over the bills, flipping through them for anything of interest, Bigby leaned over Lawrence to scan his wounds. Gunshot to the chest, wrists slashed, and—Bigby moved closer—bruises on the neck. Rope burns?

A glint in the wall behind the chair caught Bigby’s eye when he stood again. He walked around to it carefully, fingering the bullet embedded within the wood frame of the home.

“Passed through the chair,” he muttered quietly to himself. He frowned and glanced at Lawrence.

“What’s wrong?” Snow wondered, returning to the body.

“Point a gun at Lawrence.”

“What?”

“Point a…” Bigby demonstrated, extending his hand.

“Oh.” Snow raised two fingers, her thumb cocked in a rough approximation, and then she mimicked Bigby’s frown. “The angle’s wrong,” she realized, looking up at the bullet. “So…someone was kneeling when they shot him?”

Bigby gave her a sad look. “Maybe,” he allowed.

Snow realized what he was implying and paled. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. Bigby rounded the chair again, crouching carefully near the body.

On the table beside the armchair, there were two little orange bottles, their white tops popped off. One of them was on its side, a few pills scattered across the wood. A couple more had fallen to the floor, now crusted in dried blood.

“What are they?” Snow whispered. 

“Prescription sleeping pills.” The sheriff’s gaze fell to the gun on the floor, and he sniffed the air quietly.

“What is it?”

“This gun wasn’t fire recently. No trace of residue in the air. Maybe a week ago…or more.” He reached for the barrel before deciding against touching it.

“Fingerprints?”

“They’ll be on the grip and the trigger.” But he knew they wouldn’t need them.

“What…what do you think happened?”

She obviously knew; maybe she just didn’t want to be the one to say it. Bigby was staring at the body when he answered. “Looks like…” Doesn’t _look_ like anything. “He tried to kill himself. Fables are…hard to kill. Rope burns on the neck, sleeping pills, cuts on his wrists. Nothing worked. Guess the bullet finally did the trick, only—” Bigby stopped himself.

“Only what?” Snow urged, paler than usual.

“Nothing.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing, Snow.”

“Bigby. I can take it. Just tell me.”

“There’s no need to—”

“ _Bigby_.”

The sheriff let out a long sigh and gestured to the body. “He…missed.”

“Missed?”

“I think he was…aiming for his heart, but…”

“ _What_ , Bigby?”

“He hit a lung. It…wasn’t quick.”

Snow looked down, growing even paler. “Oh. That’s…awful.”

Bigby looked at Lawrence a moment longer before he stood up and stepped away. He’d never heard of a Fable successfully killing themselves before. Some had tried, but it took a hell of a lot. Most common way of dying—which wasn’t at all common—was by way of the Witching Well. That, or a murder caused by magic.

Bigby supposed Prince Lawrence would be the first.

The sheriff walked slowly around the small living room. Signs of a deeply depressed man seemed to scream in the darkness. The curtains were tacked to the walls on either side, limiting the amount of light allowed to stream through. There was a sticky stain on the floor; something must have spilled but was never cleaned up. Plants in the corners had wilted and turned into dried stalks long ago. Mail was piled, unopened, around the room—fliers and magazines, bills with _overdue_ and _final notice_ stamped across the envelopes shrewdly.

The walls were lined with pictures from another time, and Bigby stopped when he saw Faith. They both looked so different in the picture. Lawrence was smiling softly, but his eyes were on his wife, not the camera. Faith looked…happy. She was beaming, but what struck Bigby were her eyes. The sadness he’d read in her features last night was nowhere to be seen.

The pictures dated back decades. The oldest were daguerreotypes with yellowed edges. Several of the photos were taken around the city, the couple touring various stages of New York City’s development. In one of them, Faith was standing at the end of a dock, giving the camera a sarcastic frown—clearly unhappy with the photo being taken, though it seemed half-hearted. Another photo was in a living room, and Bigby was shocked to realize it was the same room he stood in. The curtains in the photo were pulled open, giving the room a warm, happy glow. The plants were green and massive, leaves bending over the corners of the couch where Faith and Lawrence were sitting together. Her legs were thrown casually over his lap, and her head was thrown back in a laugh. Lawrence’s head was back on the couch, his own laugh shaking his shoulders in the frame. It was clearly a favored picture of the couple; it had been placed in the center of the wall, close to where the bullet had landed.

Bigby looked down and shook his head. He was rounding the back of the armchair when he saw another pool of blood on the floor. He crouched near it and frowned. “Strange…”

“What did you find?” Snow wondered a little hoarsely.

“Hard edge to this stain, like…something was here and got moved?” He looked around briefly before his gaze fell to the closet doors. Maybe not a closet after all. He pulled the handle, and a Murphy bed followed. It fit perfectly over the rim of the stain. The rest of the blood had soaked into the sheets and the mattress.

“Who moved the bed?” Snow breathed, voicing Bigby’s question.

“There’s a note,” he muttered, plucking it from the mattress. It didn’t come willingly, stuck a little on one side.

“What…does it say?”

Bigby stared at it a moment, and when he read it aloud, his voice was flat. “‘My dearest Faith…I never meant to hurt you, and I cannot endure knowing that I have. This was for the best. I’ll see you again. Love, your devoted…Lawrence.’”

Bigby dropped his hand, turning his head away from Snow. She looked at him with a tortured expression as she pressed a hand to her stomach again. She lifted the other to his shoulder, but she hesitated. Her fingers twitched in midair before she slowly lowered them to her side.

The sheriff replaced the note on the bed and moved to a stack of mail near the closet by the front door. He searched through it languidly, but he didn’t expect to find anything to change the story here. The letters dated back months, each with more harsh, red stamps declaring _reply at once_ and _urgent: attention needed_.

After a long moment, Bigby looked at Snow to see her leaning over Lawrence’s body.

“I should know his face,” she whispered forlornly. “There are so few of us…I should _know_ his—”

The man blinked.

Before Snow even had a second to process what that meant, Lawrence jerked upright. Blood spurted from his chest, and he gasped and coughed. Snow yelped and jumped back in surprise. She tripped over a pile of mail, and Bigby stood up swiftly to catch her. His fingers fell clumsily to her waist, and she elbowed his chest in her momentary panic.

“Oh my God, Bigby!” she exclaimed, lurching forward again just as fast. “He’s alive!”

Lawrence gave another thick cough and fell forward. Bigby lunged to catch him before he hit the ground.

“What…what are you doing here?” the prince rasped weakly.

“Shh—don’t try to talk,” Bigby advised. He pushed him back into the chair as carefully as he could. “Snow, call Dr. Swineheart.”

She was already reaching for the phone. As soon as the doctor picked up, she spoke quietly but urgently.

Lawrence cried out in pain and fell a little to one side. He looked blearily at the sheriff kneeling before him. “What…are you…Where’s…Faith? Did she…call you? How— _ngh_ —how did you get in? Is she…here? I didn’t mean for her to…I didn’t mean…”

Bigby and Snow exchanged a tortured look as Snow replaced the phone on the hook.

Lawrence noticed. “What’s…what’s happening? Where’s Faith? Where is…”

“Lawrence, do…do you know who I am?” Bigby asked quietly. Snow stepped beside him, her eyes growing more concerned as she watched the prince.

“Yes,” the man breathed with a pained nod. “Sheriff…Wolf.”

“Good. Dr. Swineheart will be here soon, Lawrence. In the meantime, I…have some questions for you. Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” the man nodded again with difficulty.

“What happened?”

“I…I don’t know. I…shit. I shot myself…in the heart…thought I’d be dead by now. Hurts…hurts like fucking hell.”

“You…your heart’s a little more to the center. You hit a lung.”

“Great,” Lawrence coughed. His head fell back, and his eyes flooded. “Can’t even fucking kill myself right.”

Snow’s expression weakened. She knelt beside Bigby, placing her hand hesitantly over Lawrence’s ice-cold fingers.

The prince closed his eyes. “Things are…a little fuzzy. Thought…thought it was a bad dream.”

“Why did you do it, Lawrence?” Snow asked in a thick voice.

Tears ran off the prince’s chin. “I…I was ashamed. I couldn’t…” Lawrence started shaking weakly. “I couldn’t…live with myself knowing I’d done that to her.”

Bigby and Snow exchanged another look. “Done what to her?” the sheriff pressed quietly. “What did you do?”

Lawrence shook his head once. “She…took care of— _ngh_ —of me, but…there was nothing left. Nothing. So, she…started working at the…at the…” He closed his eyes again tightly. Tears streamed more steadily. “It…changed her, having to do that kind of work,” he cried. “I was ashamed…She was…doing that f-for me, to take care of…” He shook his head. “I did what I could to keep her away, so she wouldn’t have to…to…But she still worries about me. She…she comes by, makes sure I’m okay. Did she call you? Where…where is she? I didn’t mean t-to scare her. I wasn’t…I just wasn’t thinking. I just…”

“You…didn’t live together anymore?”

“I’m a fucking burden,” Prince Lawrence muttered flatly. “I’m useless. I don’t want her to have to worry about me anymore. She’s better off without me…without me here to drag her down. She deserves that. She’s been through too much already…far too much. I just…wish I could have done better by her. She’s always been there for me.” Lawrence’s head fell forward as a long, low whimper was pulled from him. “Just…go away,” he cried in a high voice. “Just…fucking go away.”

Snow lifted a hand to Bigby’s arm, grief wringing in her chest. Bigby closed his eyes briefly, his own chest tight. He didn’t know what to do. He honestly didn’t. To kick a man when he was already down seemed needlessly cruel, but he knew he couldn’t lie—not about something like this.

He looked at Snow for guidance. She gave him a tortured look, her eyes misting a little. She weakened a little more when she saw the uncertainty in the sheriff’s normally decisive eyes. Her fingers were tight on his arm, and she nodded softly.

Bigby searched her eyes a moment longer, and then he returned to the prince. “Lawrence, I’m…” The sheriff met Lawrence’s eyes, and his tone flattened and evened out when he spoke again. “I’m sorry to inform you that your wife has been killed.”

Lawrence frowned a little through his tears. “What? No, she was just here a few—a-a few weeks…She—you got it wrong, Sheriff, she—she—” Lawrence’s eyes widened as he fully understood the sheriff’s grave expression. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes tight. “N-no, that’s not—that can’t be—no,” he cried, shaking even more. Snow’s fingers tightened on Bigby’s arm. “No, no, no, no…I knew this would fucking happen! That fuckin’ place…fuckin’ Georgie…God, no…no, please, no…”

“Georgie?” Bigby repeated.

“Oh God…”

“Was he her—”

There was a light knock at the front door, and everyone froze.

“Do you…?” Snow looked at Bigby, alarmed.

The sheriff shook his head. “Are you expecting anyone?” he asked the prince quickly.

Lawrence shook his head weakly.

“I’ll see who it is.”

“No,” Snow whispered urgently, standing and grabbed his arm again when he tried to pass her. “Wait.”

They knocked again, louder this time. No one moved. After a moment, the knob rattled.

Snow turned to Lawrence hurriedly. “We need to know why whoever’s out there is breaking in,” she breathed in a rush. “I need your help.”

“What…what can _I_ do?” the prince rasped.

“Just play dead.”

“W-what?”

“Trust me. You can’t move in your condition anyway. Dr. Swineheart will be here soon, but, for now, you have to stay still. The _second_ we figure out why they’re here, Bigby will arrest them.” Lawrence wasn’t convinced. “Think about your wife. This could be about her. We need everything we can to find who did this to her.”

The prince looked up at Snow, and then he nodded slowly. He moved his leg limply to the gun, dragged it over jerkily, and then fell forward to grab it. He gasped in pain, his fingers twitching around the grip. “Just…in case,” he whispered, falling back into his chair.

“It will be alright,” Snow whispered. “Bigby, the closet—quick!”

The sheriff pried it open swiftly, kicking a pile of mail out of the way. Snow ducked under his arm, and he squeezed into the tight space after her and pulled the door shut again. Clothes hangers clanged together noisily, and Bigby reached around Snow to stifle the sound. He lifted them smoothly off the rack and dropped them as quietly as possible to the floor. Snow wound up pressed against Bigby’s side, unable to step aside to give him more space. The sheriff tried to angle himself to give her room, but the architect clearly hadn’t intended for two people to one day try to hide in the closet.

Snow glanced up at Bigby, her cheeks growing warm. Despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them here, Snow’s heart was hammering out of her chest. Bigby heard it more clearly than his own, but he chalked it up to adrenaline. Even still, he felt the same electric heat in the air she did. His own heart rammed against his ribs, but he tried to turn his focus to the apartment he was standing in—the dead girl, her grieving husband, the potential suspect currently trying to break in—rather than the sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla, the touch of her soft skin, the heat of her body pressed against his.

Bigby peered through a broken slit in the door’s wooden panels. Lawrence had fallen over to one side again, as convincingly dead as he had been when they had entered the apartment themselves. The doorknob rattled softly, and Bigby heard the soft click of metal lockpicks. He made a face. Whoever they were, they were bold. Or very stupid. Picking a lock in the middle of the day? Though, to be fair, he and Snow _had_ entered the apartment via the window, but at least that looked a little less suspicious. Probably.

Snow couldn’t see a damn thing. The closet door in front of her was solid, and the slit was too far over for her to see. She tried to lean over a little to peek through the small crack between the door and the frame, but her hip ended up pressing into Bigby's, and she straightened. She couldn’t hear past the buzzing in her ears, and she began breathing through her mouth, wary of being too loud in the silent closet.

Snow shifted a little, trying again in vain to give the sheriff more space, but she wound up stepping on his foot without realizing it. He didn’t move or say anything, and it took her several seconds to realize where her heel had landed.

“Sorry!” she gasped urgently, moving her foot noisily.

Bigby glanced down at her—which he immediately realized was a terrible mistake. She was so much closer than she’d ever been before, her face mere inches from his. He could feel her breath and the heat radiating off her skin in her embarrassment. He could hear her heart thrumming wildly, could see the blush spreading on her cheeks in the dark. His eyes danced slowly, almost lazily, between hers, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to pull himself from their drowning depths. The scent of her filled his lungs until he couldn’t think of anything else. Some idiotic part of himself ached to reach out, to brush her cheek, to outline her lower lip with his thumb. His heart pounded with the thought. A deep hunger spread through his chest, the desire to feel the warmth of her skin, to finally admit to her—and to himself—the way he’d felt about her for years.

Snow’s eyes were drifting between his, too. Her gaze fell a little to his mouth, her skin growing darker in the almost black closet. If it weren’t for his refined senses, he wouldn’t noticed at all.

His refined _predator_ senses.

The reminder of who he was—of _what_ he was—was enough to break the spell.

He looked away, ashamed and angry with himself. He refocused his attention on the apartment, doing his best to ignore Snow’s presence so close beside him.

The door opened slowly, helping the sheriff’s efforts. A large man walked in, his frame wide enough to be two men side-by-side. Bigby frowned, trying to identify him, but the man hadn’t turned around yet.

Snow watched Bigby’s profile as he peered through the slit. She tried to read his expression to see if they were in danger of being caught, or if he perhaps recognized whoever broke in. As usual, he was very hard to read, especially in the dark. She could barely see him. He was all but invisible. She could only dimly make out his eyes from the ray of bluish light slipping through the crack in the door.

The sheriff watched as the intruder leaned over Prince Lawrence. The man held his nose against the smell and grimaced. He shifted away after a moment, satisfied with the apparent corpse. He began rummaging through the desk near the back wall, tossing things aside carelessly and noisily. The intruder moved to the fireplace, his search growing more impatient. Snow’s breath began falling a little loudly in the tight closet, but Bigby was certain that the intruder wouldn’t hear it from across the room. Her heart was hammering even faster now, and the sheriff could sense the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

She didn’t like that she didn’t know what to expect. Did the man have a gun? A knife? Where they in danger of being spotted? Would the closet door suddenly burst open? She could hear him rummaging, but she couldn’t tell if it was close or far away. The sound was muffled to her ears, too distant to distinguish clearly. She tried to take comfort in Bigby’s relatively relaxed demeanor, but it was growing more difficult to remain collected.

The intruder pushed against the Murphy bed, shoving it back into the wall with his shoulder as he passed. He searched the ground, kicking over stacks of magazines on his way over to the closet. Bigby drew back. Snow was breathing too loud; the intruder would hear her for sure now, but he’d hear Bigby whisper, too. Without a better option, Bigby swiftly wrapped his arm around Snow’s shoulders and clamped his hand over her mouth as gently and unobtrusively as he could in the situation. She raised her fingers to his hand, breathing through flared nostrils instead. Bigby was careful not to move, not to jostle anything. He was confident the intruder couldn’t see into the dark closet, but he tensed himself to lunge forward if necessary. The man stopped just in front of the doors, and Snow went rigid, holding her breath.

Bigby didn’t correct her, but he knew her lungs would be bursting soon, and, if the man didn’t move, he’d hear her gasp her first breath.

The intruder knelt, rifling through the mail haphazardly.

Snow was watching Bigby, her eyes wide and her lungs aching. Her fingers tightened on his hand as she waited. He glanced at her concernedly before he looked out the slit again. The intruder sighed heavily, tossed a few letters aside, and moved away from the closet. As soon as he was far enough away, Bigby removed his hand and gave Snow an apologetic look. She nodded to him gratefully and breathed quickly through her own fingers. She tried to do it quietly as the sheriff looked back into the room.

They just needed to know what the man was looking for, what he’d deemed important enough to break in here to find. If they jumped out too early, he’d run or lie. Just a few more minutes, and they might have more than breaking and entering. More importantly, he needed to know if this man had anything to do with Faith or her murderer. If he was here to cover up something, to take some piece of evidence, the sheriff needed to see it.

Bigby was so focused on the intruder that he hadn’t noticed Lawrence begin crying softly. He almost didn’t see the flicker of movement in the center of the room. The gun in the prince’s hand was moving slowly. Bigby thought, at first, that he was aiming for the intruder, but he kept arcing it, moving it back to his—

“No!” Bigby shouted, wrenching the door open. It got stuck halfway in the mail, and he fought with it noisily as Snow yelped in surprise. Lawrence jerked and the gun fell to the ground with a loud thud. The intruder whipped around with a wordless cry. In an instant, he was out the door. “Shit!” the sheriff added, chasing after him. “Stay here!”

“Like hell!” Snow argued, right behind him. The sun blinded her, and she gasped as her retinas burned, but she didn’t slow down.

Bigby’s eyes adjusted swiftly, his pupils constricting faster than the intruder’s. He tried to tackle him, but the other man unexpectedly swerved down an alley. He hit the wall hard, propelling himself faster. Bigby jerked to a stop and then chased the intruder down the alley.

“Stop!” he ordered gruffly.

The man glanced over his shoulder and pushed himself harder. Given his stature, he was deceptively fast. “Leave me alone!”

Snow fell behind, cursing the low heels she’d put on this morning. She’d hardly expected a damn chase through alleyways. She was tempted to take the damn things off and catch up to them barefoot—she knew she was fast enough—but at the sight of broken glass, she changed her mind. Instead, she skidded to a stop. The man was heading towards a dead-end with only an apartment door to head through. She made a quick guess about where he’d end up and loped down another alley to head him off.

Ahead of Bigby, the intruder ran clumsily through the building’s door, hitting it so hard that he dented it. He caught the door and slammed it closed behind him. Bigby didn’t hesitate. Angling his shoulder, he burst through the door, ripping it clean off its hinges with a growl. The intruder was thudding up a flight of stairs as fast as he could. Bigby lunged after him, and the man threw a table from the landing behind him, hoping to slow the sheriff’s progress. It didn’t work; Bigby gripped the railing and dodged the tumbling table easily. The intruder managed to gain a little ground, tossing more objects behind him. Bigby dodged a potted plant and a vase, both from another table, taking the stairs up two at a time.

Breathlessly, the intruder abandoned the stairs and ran down the fourth-floor hallway. A couple women were working a couch into an apartment slowly, taking up the whole hall. Bigby thought he had the intruder cornered, but the man pushed one of the women away and shoved the couch aside with one massive push.

Bigby slipped past the couch in pursuit and pulled the woman back to her feet. “You alright?” he panted, hearing a door slam closed further down the hall.

“Yeah, what the _fuck_?!” the woman shouted angrily.

“Police,” was all Bigby had time to call as he ran down the hall and rounded the corner. The diversion had cost him valuable seconds, and he arrived at two apartment doors. One was cracked open, but the other apartment number swung from its nails—clearly the door he’d just heard slam.

Bigby burst through it so hard that the door groaned in protest as it bounced off the wall. The intruder was trying to lift himself out a window onto the fire escape without much success. The sheriff lunged forward and grabbed the man’s leg to pull him back in. The intruder kicked wildly with his other leg, catching Bigby in the stomach. The sheriff fell back several steps, and the man slipped from the room and landed gracelessly on the iron platform outside.

Bigby launched himself forward again, climbing more agilely through the window. His shoe caught on the sill, though, and he fell against the railing before he started running again.

On the street four stories below, Snow was following their chase. She saw Bigby nearly fall, and her heart leapt into her throat. He righted himself quickly and pushed onwards. Idly wondering if this was what his days usually looked like, Snow picked up the pace, heels pounding painfully on the pavement.

The intruder jumped off the edge of the fire escape, sailing across to the next building. He almost fell before his hands hit the railing. His weight wrenched it a little out of the brick wall as he pulled himself up and over. Thoughtlessly, Bigby threw himself across the distance in pursuit. He hit the railing, and it snapped off the fire escape before he could lift himself over it. Snow shouted his name when he fell. He swung down a level, slamming into the third-floor iron platform with a grunt. His ribs ached in protest, and he heard the railing clatter to the ground shrilly. Breathlessly, Bigby pulled himself back to his feet, ignoring the pain from the fall as he climbed through an open window. He didn’t take a moment to catch his breath. He panted out a quick “Police” to the befuddled homeowner as he wrenched open the front door and rushed out into the hall.

He paused when he heard a crash upstairs. A woman screamed, and dust fell free from the ceiling in the wake of the intruder’s heavy footfalls. Bigby took off again, following the man’s hurried steps above him. A door opened in the hallway, nearly slamming into the sheriff, and it cost him a few seconds to avoid it. He looked up in time to see something massive flash past the window heading straight down. Without thinking or stopping, Bigby jumped through the window. Glass shattered and sliced across his arms, and then, for the second time in less than twelve hours, he was falling. Hot wind rushed past him for a breathless moment, and then he landed on top of the intruder in a dumpster.

The man shoved Bigby aside and climbed out. He slipped and fell clumsily to the ground before picking himself up again.

“Hey!” Bigby growled, following him out.

The man tried to run again, but Bigby threw himself forward and tackled the larger man to the ground. He found his feet, preparing a punch when the other man whipped around on the pavement and raised his hands in surrender.

“Ease up, Bigby! We’re on the same side here!”

Bigby panted and dropped his fist. His breaths wheezed out of him, and he leaned over to rest his hands on his knees. “You…sonofabitch…makin’ me…run after you…goddamn it.” Bigby raised a hand to his chest to feel his heart hammering out of control. It was harder to push his human form. “Shit.”

“I see you do a lot of cardio?”

“Shut…the fuck up,” Bigby ordered, reaching into his pocket for a cigarette.

“Sure you really wanna light that thing up? Ain’t gonna help ya catch your breath, Bigby.”

“I said…shut…up. What…the hell…were you doing back there?” Bigby demanded angrily. He put the cigarette in his pocket again, wincing at a pinch in his chest. “Shit—”

“Don’t have a heart attack there, Bigby,” the other man chuckled. 

“Shut—”

“I know, I know. Shut up.”

“What—the hell—were you doing?”

“Same shit _you_ should be doin’, Sheriff! Lookin’ for clues! The fuck you doin’ hidin’ in closets?! Fuck, man!”

Bigby kicked the man’s shine.

“ _Fuck_!” he repeated with a shout.

“I’m…asking the questions…here.”

The man crawled back until he hit a wall. He stood up slowly as Bigby followed him. Despite his breathless state, the sheriff’s eyes were murderous, his expression terrifying enough to make the other man hold up his hands placatingly.

“Look, you’re after the Woodsman, right?” he said quickly. “My employer is lookin’ to ask him a few questions, too.”

“Your _employer_?” Bigby frowned. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Dee, a private investigator. Got a business card in me shirt pocket ‘n everythin’.”

Bigby grimaced and reached for it. He pulled out a card, gave it a fleeting glance, and then scowled at Dee. “This is for a sandwich shop.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were gonna fuckin’ fact check me, Sheriff. Fer fuck’s sake, does a man’s word mean nothin’ anymore?”

“Who the hell hired you?”

Dee scoffed and lowered his hands. “Come now, Bigby. I can’t tell you that. It’s _confidential_. Sorry. I’m sure you understand.”

“Nope. Can’t say that I do. In fact, you’re coming with me.”

Dee sighed. “This could’a been so easy, Sheriff.”

“Don’t worry. It still is. Let’s go.”

The man glanced over Bigby’s shoulder and smirked. “Dum.”

“ _Dumb_?” Bigby repeated incredulously. “Yeah, it _is_ dumb. Look, it’d be much easier if—”

“No, no, no,” the other man chuckled. “I’m Dee. _He’s_ Dum.”

Bigby managed to turn halfway around before something cracked him over the head. His eyes flashed yellow for a brief second, but it was far too late. He fell to the ground, and his vision blacked out.

***

“You almost looked peaceful.”

The voice was warm and beautiful. Bigby’s head swam with it—a voice he’d know anywhere. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked blearily into the painfully bright sun. For several delirious seconds, he simply stared up, struck by the amused ocean eyes looking at him. She was kneeling beside him, her head cocked. Her dark eyebrows rose a little as she smiled playfully at him.

“Except you’re lying in a dirty alley,” she continued casually.

Bigby groaned, raising a hand to his pounding head.

“In what I can only assume is either piss or vomit—”

“I hope that’s a joke,” Bigby grumbled.

“—with an open wound on the back of your head.”

The sheriff groaned again. “Just leave me here.”

Snow gave an enchanting laugh. Bigby considered it easily the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Where’d they go?” he muttered.

“Well, I arrived right around the time one of them was kicking you—”

“Explains the ribs.”

Snow tried to fight her smile. “When they saw me, they jumped into a car and drove off. I tried to get a license plate, but I only saw the first two numbers.” She reached for the hand Bigby had on his chest and gripped it tightly in both of hers. “Come on, big guy,” she chuckled. “No time for naps.”

Bigby snorted and took her hand. He did most of the work getting himself up, but Snow still reached for his arm and grunted a little.

“Jeez, you’re heavier than you look,” she teased.

Bigby snorted again. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

Snow chuckled softly, looking up at him as he came to his full height, a couple inches taller than her in her heels. He bent a little, wincing at his ribs and raising a hand to his eyes. “You alright?” Snow murmured casually.

“’Side from the broken rib and the splitting migraine? Couldn’t be better.”

She smiled at his dry tone. “Well, in that case, we should go make sure Dr. Swineheart made it to Lawrence alright. And then we should go check on Toad, maybe see if there’s anything the Woodsman can give us to get us back on the trail.”

“Shit,” Bigby groaned. “Right…right behind you, Snow.”

“Need me to find you a gurney? If we look long enough, I’m sure we’ll find one. You picked the right spot for it.”

Bigby gave a wry smile. Her sarcasm was one of his favorite things.

She enjoyed the little victory. He so rarely smiled, it always felt like a compliment.

“I think I’ll manage,” he replied a second late.

“Well, I’m convinced.”

He smiled wryly again and gave an amused sigh.

“I’m just saying, there’s a lot of stuff here. You out of cigarettes? They’ve got ‘em. Need a new shirt? There’s one on the ground over there. Looking for some—”

“Will you just get us a taxi already?”

Her grin widened. “As far as alleys go, you could’ve done worse. I mean, syringes, mysterious puddles…I feel like my day is complete, and it’s barely begun.”

“You know what, Snow?”

“What?” she challenged with another smile.

He didn’t have a follow-up. “Shut up,” he finally managed with a soft tone.

Her melodic laugh rang out again, the sound wonderfully amused.

Bigby sighed again and glanced at her sideways. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”


	5. Chapter 5

“…and then we ended up goin’ out the window,” Bigby finished with a sigh, gesturing to the destroyed vehicle near the curb. “Managed to land on Toad’s car.”

“You guys made a real mess,” Snow snorted. She glanced up at the massive hole in the third floor. Very little even resembling a window remained.

Bigby grimaced. “Yeah…looks worse in the day.”

“Well,” Snow sighed, stopping on the sidewalk. She peered up through the hole into Woody's apartment. “If someone was here, looks like they’re long gone now.”

The sheriff shook his head irritably. “If we came all this way for nothing…”

As soon as they stepped into the building’s lobby, both Snow and Bigby heard the hiccuping cries of a child down the hall.

“Alright, son, alright,” a low voice murmured—unmistakably Toad’s accent. They were inside their apartment, judging from their muffled tones. “It’s alright. It’s over now.”

Snow lost all trace of humor. She and Bigby walked to the apartment on the end and exchanged a look. “Is…is that his son?” she wondered quietly, listening to the boy’s persistent sobs.

“I think so.” Bigby raised a hand to knock, but Snow turned to him. She caught his arm, her fingers warm on his wrist. He hesitated, glancing over at her.

“Be nice in there…okay?”

“I’m always nice.”

A smile broke across her face despite the circumstances, and she took her hand away. “Mmhm,” she intoned sarcastically.

“What? I can be nice,” he mumbled, just to see her smile again.

It worked. She added a snort and shook her head. “Mhm, the Big Nice Wolf.”

She regretted the thoughtless comment as soon as she said it. It was like a shadow passing over his expression—one that looked hurt, though, not angry. Before she could correct it or apologize, Bigby reached out and knocked lightly on the door.

“Toad?” he called in a gruff voice. Snow looked away, frowning at herself. “You in there? It’s Snow and Bigby.” The sheriff knocked a little louder when no one responded, and the door slid free from the frame, unlatched. Bigby glanced down and frowned before he pushed the door all the way open.

“Bigby!” Toad grinned, shoving his son into his room and closing the door. “And Miss White! Surely you didn’t come all this way jus' for my bother!”

“What’s the problem, Toad?” the sheriff returned directly.

Toad sighed. “Sorry, Bigby. It’s…embarrassin’ to admit, but, eh, I thought there was someone in Woody’s place. There wasn’t, though!” He gave a high laugh. “Not when I checked. Nothin’ but a leaky drainpipe. Imagination must’a got the best’a me, mate. So, y’know, false alarm ‘n all that. Sorry fer draggin’ Miss White into it, but, eh, thanks for comin’. Much appreciated.”

“Your son was crying,” Bigby said, taking a quick glance around the apartment. “Everything alright in here?”

Toad looked like he was going to deny it, but then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, that? The boy stubbed his toe on the bed frame is all. It stings, y’know? But it’s nothin’ ta kick up a fuss about. A lil’ tub swim, ‘e’ll be right as rain, I’m sure.”

Bigby sniffed the air quietly.

Toad frowned at him. “Somethin’ wrong, Sheriff?”

He didn’t sense anyone but Toad and his son, but he still felt the need to ask. “Is there anyone else in the apartment, Toad?”

“Eh? No!” the amphibian laughed. “’Course not. Anyone else in the apartment,” he repeated with another chuckle.

Snow glanced at Bigby briefly before she gestured to the bedroom door. “Is your son in there, Mr. Toad?” she murmured, a worried note in her tone.

Toad waved her off casually. “Oh, the boy’s fine, Miss White. Sweet’a you ta worry, though. Just stung ‘is lil’ toe. Better swimmer’n a walker, jus’ like ‘is dad,” he said with a humble laugh.

Snow gave Bigby a discreet but loaded look. He nodded minutely.

Toad tapped his hands against his legs and whistled. “Right, then, I guess you’ll be takin’ off now? No need ta 'ang ‘round ‘ere anymore. I mean, I’m sorry you came all the way ‘ere for nothin’, but, uh…”

“I’d like to check your apartment,” Bigby replied. “Make sure everything’s alright.”

“Really, Sheriff,” Toad laughed quietly. “There’s no need to go to all that trouble. Honestly, it’s—”

“This is for your own safety, Toad. You called us, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘n I appreciate it, mate, but—”

“Relax. We’ll be out of here in a minute. I just want to check things out first.”

Toad looked between Snow and Bigby before sighing. “Alright, alright,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head under his cap. “I just…don’t want you wastin’ your time is all. Have a seat, have a cuppa—wha’ever you like.”

Bigby’s eyes flickered up to the cap on Toad’s head when the amphibian turned around. It was old and dusty and a little too formal for his otherwise casual attire.

“May I see your son, Mr. Toad?” Snow wondered.

“Sure, sure, knock on the door there,” he replied. He sat heavily on an old ottoman near the railing to the living room.

Snow leaned forward and tapped softly on the door. “TJ?” she called, her voice a soft melody again. “It’s Snow White.”

There was a moment of pure silence, and then the door cracked open slowly. A small, frightened toad looked up at her with wide, tearful eyes.

“There you are!” Snow smiled warmly, her voice growing even softer when she saw his terrified expression. She knelt gracefully in front of him to minimize their height difference. “I don’t mean to intrude, but Flycatcher said you have a pretty awesome insect collection, and…well, I was wondering if you, perhaps, could…let me see it?” she wondered, letting a shy note steal into her honeyed tone.

Bigby’s eyes were on Snow, but he peripherally saw the boy shuffle and glance up at her confidentially. “It has a weevil,” he whispered.

Snow’s eyes widened, and she grinned. “What?! Now you _have_ to show me!”

TJ returned her smile and opened the door wider. She glanced up at Bigby, who was still watching her, and then she stood and followed the boy into his room. She closed the door behind them gently. Bigby and Toad heard the excited rambling of the boy’s voice. He pointed out a dozen things in a matter of seconds, no doubt filling Snow’s hands. She laughed, the sound once again a melody to Bigby’s ears.

“You ever gonna tell ‘er, mate?” Toad mused, rubbing the back of his head again.

Bigby realized his mouth had curved a little into a small smile, and he dropped it. “What?” he replied, turning on the amphibian almost angrily.

“I said, you ever gonna _tell_ ‘er?”

“What are you—”

“Obvious enough that you’ve got a thing for—”

“Toad,” the sheriff snapped. “I’m here to search your apartment, so unless you—”

“Alright, alright,” the amphibian sighed. “Just—mind the upholstery while you’re snoopin’ around for nothin’.”

“Yeah. Sure thing.” Bigby gestured with his shoe to a lamp that was smashed across the floor by the front door. “How’d this happen?”

“Feckin’ ‘ell,” Toad sighed, like he’d just noticed the damage. “Damn thing must’a fell off the table.”

Bigby looked up at him dubiously. “Mm. Lamp just…fell off the table.”

“Or the boy was faffin’ about, playin’ sods ‘n swordfish. Who knows with the lad?”

Bigby looked at the table in question—more specifically, at the power outlet behind it. Both plugs were occupied by the table’s own lamp and a fan. “Had two lamps here, then?”

Toad gave him an even look. “Got weak eyes.”

“You’re a toad.”

“And you’re a wolf! Don’t see me sayin’ you simply _must '_ ave a keen sense’a hearin'.”

“I do, actually, and I can hear you heart pounding in your chest.” Bigby looked at the door to see why it was hanging ajar. “Lock’s busted, too,” he muttered. The wood paneling at the frame was broken from the latch. “Place is falling apart.”

“Eh?”

“The lock. Looks like somebody kicked in the door.”

“The feckin’ lock’s been busted for weeks, mate,” Toad sighed casually. “Rotted jus’ like everythin’ else in this bloody buildin’.”

“Mm.”

Bigby passed the amphibian, who was watching him closely, and took the three stairs down from the foyer to the living room. He surveyed the fireplace, his gaze sweeping until he saw a bit of blood splattered across the wall. It was shoulder-length to him, curved in a peculiar pattern across the lower half of a picture frame. He sniffed the air to determine it was still fresh, within the last few hours. He glanced back at Toad expectantly.

“It’s just some wood rot,” the amphibian laughed. “Not mold or nothin’—don’t worry.”

“You bleeding?”

“What?”

“Are you bleeding, Toad,” the sheriff repeated.

“’Course not. Why would you even ask that?”

“That’s blood,” Bigby replied, nudging his chin towards the wall. “Still fresh, and I’ve been catching whiffs of copper since I walked in here.”

“Oh—well, yeah, I cut me ‘and, didn’t I? Ran around like a tit tryin’a pick out a wrap, lemme tell you.” He waved a hand in the air—an unbandaged one. “Must’a got some on the furnishments.”

Bigby raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Sounds painful,” he said dryly.

“Oi,” Toad chuckled, “don’t you go Mother Hennin’ now. The wound didn’t sit very long; you know ‘ow it is. Perks’a bein’ a Fable, I s’pose. Well, ‘n a frog.”

“…don’t know,” Snow murmured, a smile in her voice as she opened the boy’s door. “Let me ask him. One minute, TJ, okay?” She turned around. “Bigby?”

The sheriff glanced at Toad as he mounted the stairs again. He stopped close beside her, and she moved even closer.

“Have you found anything yet?” she whispered.

“Few things. Toad’s definitely hiding something. Kid say anything?”

“No, but I’m worried. He has two huge bruises on his arms.” Bigby frowned. “He won’t tell me why, and he acted nervous when I brought it up.”

“Is he bleeding anywhere?”

Snow eyes flashed worriedly. “Not…that I can tell. Why?”

“Found some fresh blood on the wall. Can smell it in the air. Toad lied about it when I asked.”

“What is going on?” Snow muttered, crossing her arms. “Is there anyone else here?”

Bigby shook his head. “No, not in the apartment. Stay with the kid for a little while. I’m gonna keep looking around.”

Snow nodded. She glanced at the apartment fleetingly before she replaced her smile and turned back to TJ. “He said his favorites are fireflies!”

“Mine, too!” TJ exclaimed happily.

Bigby returned to the living room.

“That ever a problem?” Toad wondered, folding uninjured hands in front of himself. “You two workin’ together, I mean. Must be difficult to be around ‘er all the time ‘n not—”

“Toad. I said drop it.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I am now. What’s this poker doing on the ground?” he asked, walking to it. It had obviously been thrown down carelessly. He picked it up, smelling copper on the sharpened end before he saw it. “Got more blood on it.”

“On…on the poker?” Toad asked, shifting his weight.

“Yep. What happened?”

“Ah, well, that’s—that’s ‘ow it ‘appened, didn’t it? I was pokin’ the coals, ‘n it slipped a bit—sliced me foot open like a seashell! Hurt like a shit, the ugly thing.”

Bigby stared at him.

Toad gave a heavy sigh and rubbed the back of his head again. “If you’re gonna say somethin’, out with it. Don’t just loom there.”

“Dropped it on your foot, huh?”

“Yeah, ‘s what I said, innit?”

“You just said you cut your hand.”

Toad glanced away. “Yeah, no—I-I did cut me ‘and. You’re right. I cut me ‘and first, 'n that made me drop the damned thing on me foot. Ruinous flip of events, really.”

Bigby raised an eyebrow, giving the blood spatter on the wall a pointed look. He stepped forward and slowly swung the poker to play with the angles.

“Oh my God,” Toad complained when he realized what the sheriff was doing. “Will you not make a big faff outta this?! There’s nothin’ to solve ‘ere, Sheriff. I’m tellin’ you everythin’ that ‘appened. Why don’t you believe me?”

“This apartment’s a goddamn mess, Toad. It looks like after a struggle or a fight. And I don’t know why you’d cover for it, but I know you’re lying about something—”

“But I’m not!”

“—and you’re just gonna make it worse for yourself the longer you keep up the act.”

Toad gave the sheriff an imploring look. “Bigby, I’m _not_ bullshitting you. _Honest_.”

“We’ll see.” Bigby dropped the fire poker, letting it land on the wooden floor with a loud thud. Toad cringed without meaning to, and Bigby’s expression tightened.

The sheriff turned around slowly, scanning the room for further evidence. He opened a closet door and searched around the couches. Nothing caught his eye until he came to an empty table near a small shelf. It was oddly vacant, as if something had been moved. As Bigby got closer, he saw a clear octagonal outline in the dust.

“That…more blood?” Toad asked quietly.

“No. A clean spot in the dust. Did you move something?”

“Uh, maybe one’a Junior’s toys or something’? I mean, who knows? Kids. You know ‘ow it is. Well, maybe…not…” Toad frowned and looked away.

Bigby’s eyes fell to the empty power outlet, and then he looked at the lamp on the ground near the door.

“Bloody ‘ell, Bigby, what sinister bit have you uncovered this time? What, left the tap water runnin’? Didn’t sort the recyclin’? What is the _point_ of all this scrutiny, mate, really?”

“I’m trying to help you, Toad.”

“What, by pointin’ out where me boy’s toys used to sit?! Honestly!”

“That broken lamp was here,” Bigby corrected, crossing his arms. “Just tell me what happened. I want to help, Toad.”

“ _Nothin_ ’ ‘appened, mate, honestly. Nothin’! And _why_ did the lamp _have_ to be there, of all the bloomin’ pointless inquiries?!”

“Because it was _always_ on this table, Toad. The dust ring around it matches the bottom of the lamp, and because of the power outlets. The lamp couldn’t have been knocked off _that_ table, because there aren’t any outlets it could’ve been plugged into. They’re full.”

“Huh? What are you—”

“It was plugged in over here, and now it’s smashed over there.”

“I-I was doin’ some—refigurin’…who feckin’ cares?!”

“You moved it over there just to keep it unplugged? C’mon, Toad.”

“I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet! My life’s not as simple as yours, Bigby! I got things to remember, someone _else_ other than meself to take care of! When you got a kid, sometimes things—like pluggin’ in lamps—take a feckin’ backseat! Not that you’d know what it means to have another bloomin’ mouth to feed.”

Bigby frowned at him but didn’t reply. He swept the living room again, searching another closet, the desk, and around the couch before he stopped by the window. The ground-floor sill led straight to the alleyway. Smear marks across the white wood caught his attention—long streaks that ran across the windowsill, as if someone had climbed in—or out. Bigby opened the window to see them better, and then he looked back at Toad.

“What’re these marks?”

“Oi, don’t go leavin’ the bloody window open! Got me air-conditioning runnin’, Bigby! It’s expensive!”

“What are the marks, Toad?”

“What feckin’ marks?”

“On the windowsill.”

Toad shrugged. “Like I said, Junior leaves his toys around all the—”

“These aren’t from a toy, Toad.” 

The amphibian snapped his fingers. “Oh, right. I'd bloomin' forgot. Just last night, when I’d come home, I was in a-a downright tizzy, mate, as you would be—”

“I saw you last night.”

“I-I meant, the _other_ night! Chrissakes, Bigby, I haven’t slept since I saw you. It’s all been one long day to me. The _other_ night, I plum forgot me keys to this place.” Toad laughed, rubbing his head. “Had to climb in through the bloody window. _Not_ my finest moment.”

“Really.”

“Scared Junior half to death.”

“Mm.”

Toad rubbed his neck. “Say, you, uh…heard the new Shakin’ Stevens album yet? Heard good things…”

“You wouldn’t’ve needed keys, Toad.”

“Eh?”

“The lock’s broken. So, why’d you climb in through the window?”

“Oi?”

Bigby huffed impatiently. “Why did you climb in through the goddamn window, Toad? You’re wasting both our times here. You said yourself, the lock’s been rotten for weeks, so you wouldn’t have needed a key to get in.”

“Feckin’ ‘ell! Just what are you are you on about, mate?! After the state I was in, I didn’t have me ‘ead is all. I forgot the feckin’ ‘andle was feckin’ busted, ‘n I’ll tell you what else—it’s embarrassin’, you bringin’ all this shit up, alright? Must be nice to live at the Woodlands, but the rest’a us out here gotta make it on our own. So, just quit it with the third degree, will ya?”

Bigby crossed his arms.

Toad sighed and tried a new tactic, his tone turning imploring. “Bigby, c’mon, I’m beggin’ the mercy o’er ‘ere, ol’ boy. I was lookin’ forward to a nice afternoon, just me ‘n me boy, ‘n you’ve gone ‘n taken up enough’a the day with all this…this sniffin’ around at me private belongin’s! I’m _sorry_ I called you, really I am, but will you please, _please_ just bugger off?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?!” Toad exploded. “No one _fought_ anyone, Bigby! There wasn’t any scrap! So when?! _When_ are you gonna feckin’ leave?!”

“When you start telling me the truth, Toad.”

The amphibian weakened with an exasperated sigh. “But I’ve _told_ you the truth, mate! Jesus Christ, what more do you want?!”

“Toad, these stories have made no sense. You’re wasting my time and yours. You didn’t cut yourself on the poker. You didn’t forget your keys. You didn’t bump the lamp off the table. For what it’s worth, Toad, I’m sorry we didn’t get here until now, alright? Whatever happened here, whatever you’re afraid to tell me, it’s my fault, but I’m here _now_ , so stop lying to me, Toad, and tell me what happened.”

Toad stared at Bigby, expression waning. Before he could reply, TJ’s door opened again.

“…doesn’t think much of me,” the boy was mumbling quietly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Snow murmured, her eyes finding Bigby’s. “Progress?”

Toad leaned down to hug his son. Bigby sighed when he saw a thin trail of blood falling from under Toad’s hat.

“Mr. Toad!” Snow said, alarmed when she saw it, too. “You’re—bleeding!”

Toad jerked back, feeling at the back of his neck. His webbed fingers came away bloody, and he deflated. He sat heavily on the ottoman and looked at the floor.

“Take off your hat, Toad,” Bigby said quietly, standing behind him.

The amphibian sighed and lifted it away.

Bigby grimaced at the long wound. It was obviously from the fire poker. It wasn’t too deep, fortunately, but it hadn’t yet clotted enough to stop bleeding.

Snow searched the pockets of her blazer for a clean tissue and pressed it to Toad’s head tenderly.

“It was that…butcher,” Toad sighed, switching hands with Snow to keep the pressure on. He nodded at her gratefully and returned his gaze to the floor. “A Tweedle—Dee or Dum. Gotta strip ‘em down to their johnnies before you can tell which is which. He comes bargin’ in ‘ere, screamin’ about somethin’ the Woodsman had or… _thought_ he had. I don’t know. Tore up the place, beat me when I said I didn’t have it. Went after Junior. I tried to get me boy out the window, but the Tweedle pulled us back in.” He sighed heavily. “’S been a hard morning, I can tell you that.”

Bigby looked down. “I should’ve come when you called.”

“What the ‘ell do you care?” the amphibian wondered softly. “It’s always the same with you, innit, Bigby? If I’m in trouble, need ‘elp, if I call about somethin’, you always take the live long day to get ‘ere. What if he’d done somethin’ worse, eh? Bad enough 'e laid a finger on me boy, but was if he’d done somethin’ more’n that? I’m _tired_ of feelin’ trivial, mate. A lot of us are.”

The sheriff sighed quietly. “I’m sorry, Toad.”

It was simple as far as apologies went, but it was a lot coming from the Big Bad Wolf. Toad grimaced and waved him off. “Wha’ever, Sheriff. It’s over now. Me ‘n the boy’re alright.”

“We’re so sorry, TJ,” Snow murmured, kneeling again. “Really.”

“Do…” Bigby sighed again and looked at Toad. “Do you know what he was looking for?”

“I ‘ave no idea,” the amphibian replied flatly. “I’d tell you if I did. I wanted to, really I did. But he said if word’a this ever got back to him, if he thought you knew—or Miss White—he’d come back ‘n kill my boy. Couldn’t do nothin’ to placate ‘im. Even tried to give the bastard her coat. He wouldn’t take it.”

“Coat?” Bigby repeated at the same time Snow asked, “Whose coat?”

“The girl,” Toad said, like it was obvious.

“Dad borrows things from people who live here!” TJ announced. Toad glared at him, and the boy shrank back. “Uh…sometimes…?”

Bigby grimaced at Toad. “Borrows?”

“I don’t steal nothin’! The turnaround ‘ere would astonish you, mate. I merely…repossess what’s been left behind is all.”

Snow sighed, stopping Bigby when he looked like he might argue the point. “We’ll be taking the coat now to give it back to her…to her husband.”

“Alright,” Toad grumbled, nudging his son gently. “Go ‘n fetch ‘em the fur.”

TJ skipped down the steps to the fireplace, evidently in better spirits after his time with Snow.

“Fur?” Bigby repeated.

“Fine bit’a dress it is,” Toad muttered dryly.

Snow joined TJ at the fireplace and helped him pull something heavy down. Bigby followed them, his eyes widening when Snow held it up. It was the same old, donkeyskin cloak from the mural.

“Well, I wouldn’t wear it out,” Toad shrugged when he misunderstood Bigby’s expression.

“Where did you get this?” the sheriff demanded.

“She left it upstairs, I guess. You’ll have to ask the Woodsman about it.”

Bigby’s frown deepened. He looked up at Snow. “Why would she bring this to meet a client?”

Snow held his gaze, her expression mirroring his. She reached into the pocket and pulled something out. “Look, there’s an envelope.”

Toad huffed. “Feckin’ hell, ‘a course there is. With my luck, it’s a map to some bloody doubloons.”

“It’s addressed to Prince Lawrence,” Snow murmured.

“We’ll give it back to him,” the sheriff muttered.

Snow nodded in agreement and slipped the envelope back into the pocket.

Toad gave another weary sigh. “Well, it’s been quite a surprisin’ day for us all, ‘asn’t it? I’d see you out, but I’m afraid’a drippin’ anymore blood in the place.”

Bigby silently offered to take the coat from Snow, and she accepted gratefully. Free of its weight, she knelt down to the little toad again. “It was very nice talking to you, TJ,” she murmured warmly. 

“Thanks,” he smiled, his voice growing small and shy. “See you.”

Bigby folded the donkeyskin coat over his arm. He led the way out of the apartment building, breathing in the relatively fresh air outside. The sun was beginning its slow descent. The relief was moderate but palpable.

Bigby fished for a cigarette and found his lighter, struggling a little with the coat.

“Here, let me take it,” Snow offered, holding her arms out.

“I’ve got it,” Bigby mumbled around the cigarette.

Snow caught his wrist when he moved to light it. “Probably best you don’t get ash on it,” she smiled, taking the coat before he could object.

Bigby made a face. “Hm. Thanks.”

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. He closed his eyes briefly at the relief the nicotine brought. Snow watched him as he turned his head away from her to breathe out. They walked a little down the sidewalk, waiting for a taxi to hail.

“Does it always go that smoothly?” Snow wondered, giving Bigby a pleased look.

“What, lighting a cigarette?” he replied dryly, hoping she might laugh.

She did, and he gave a small smile. “No, I mean the—”

“Not often,” he answered, watching the ground as they walked.

Snow looked down, too. “So, back to the Woodlands?”

Bigby sighed. “I should get that back to Lawrence.”

“We’ll drop it off at Dr. Swineheart’s on the way to the Business Office.”

“I need to head over to the Trip Trap.”

Snow wrinkled her nose. “Not because of what Toad said?”

“It’s a haunt of the Woodsman’s. Hopefully, he’s there or…I don’t know, someone who’ll know where to find him.”

Snow didn’t seem happy with the prospect.

“If one of the Tweedles was searching for something of his, he’ll probably know what. It’s my best lead.”

Snow sighed. “Our _only_ lead, really.”

Bigby snorted. “Well, when you put it like _that_ …”


	6. Chapter 6

The city was bathed in violet hues. The fading sun mixed with the smog in the air to produce a rich tapestry of colors. Long shadows stretched lazily across streets as Snow and Bigby rode silently in a cab. Their visit to Dr. Swineheart’s had gone about as they’d both expected. Lawrence was so distraught that he’d actually made Snow cry, though she’d hid it well. They’d tried to talk more with him after he’d calmed down, but the doctor had insisted they let him rest. They left after Swineheart promised to keep a close eye on him for the next few days.

They’d been riding for about half an hour in silence, but it finally got to Snow. She glanced at Bigby as he stared out his window. He was fighting another wave of exhaustion. His eyes flickered disinterestedly across the dozens of doors and windows they passed. Snow periodically peeked at him, trying to gauge whether it was the right moment to speak—if she should speak at all—before she finally leaned up and closed the divider between them and the driver.

“Bigby?” she murmured softly.

He looked at her. The way she said his name always had the same effect on him. It warmed his chest, made his heart beat just a little faster.

“Be honest with me,” she continued in a quiet voice. She stared at her fingers for a long moment and then lifted her eyes to his, searching them. “From everything we’ve learned…from everything you know at this point…who do you think did this?”

Bigby was slow to answer. “Based on what we know so far—”

“Which is very little, I know…”

“If you wanted me to make a guess…”

She nodded in encouragement.

“Her pimp seems the most likely suspect right now.”

Snow cocked her head. “You still think so?”

“Lawrence mentioned a Georgie in connection with the club she worked at. And…”

“And what?”

Bigby looked away, his eyes growing solemn as he studied the seats ahead of them. “When I spoke to her, she was worried about being short for the night.”

“How short?”

“Short enough. The Woodsman wriggled out of paying her, and she was worried about what being short meant for her. She was…supposed to drop off what she had and then come to my apartment.”

“Your apartment?”

“To make a statement about what happened with Woody.”

“And you don’t think it was him? The Woodsman, I mean.”

Bigby sighed. It took him another moment to answer, and then he shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Snow was surprised. After their history, she didn’t expect Bigby to side with him, especially not on something as serious as this. “What makes you so certain of that?”

“Just a feeling.”

Snow could accept that. She’d been working with Bigby long enough to know that his instincts were solid. It was one of the many things that made him a great sheriff, even if he seemed to doubt it sometimes.

“That’s why I need to find out which club she was working at,” Bigby continued quietly, looking out the window again. “And who Georgie is. Not sure how she ended up on our doorstep, but…right now, this is the best…and only lead we’ve got.”

The cab lurched to a stop in the middle of an intersection. Dozens of car horns erupted down the long chain of traffic ahead of them.

Snow glanced at Bigby and folded her hands in her lap. It was different being so close to him. In the course of one day, they’d had more physical contact than…ever, really. It was burning under Snow’s skin, making her feel flushed and jittery.

Bigby felt it, too, like an electricity in the air that made him a little uncertain. It was an unfamiliar feeling, utterly unique to his time with Snow. He adjusted his tie a little and cleared his throat softly. His fingers tapped on his leg briefly. He looked at her peripherally, glanced out the window, and then finally turned to face her.

“Thanks for—” he started to say at the exact moment Snow murmured, “I wish there was—”

They both stopped, turning away from each other. Bigby frowned at himself, and Snow blushed, tucking loose locks of her hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” she smiled.

“No, I—go ahead,” Bigby said quickly, his voice warmer with her than with anyone else. “I-I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

“No, it’s…” Snow hesitated and peeked at Bigby. He nodded again for her to continue, watching her encouragingly. She played with the end of her skirt between her fingertips idly and looked out the window. “It’s…nothing. I just…Seeing all this today…” She sighed. “There are Fables who are struggling worse than I’d imagined. We pay so much attention to the residents of the Woodlands…you forget there’s entire community out there to serve. I mean…to have to turn to… _prostitution_ ,” Snow breathed. Bigby closed his eyes briefly, seeing a flash of playful but sad emerald eyes. “We were…queens and princes.” She shook her head. “And now the only ones we care for are the ones fortunate enough to live in the Woodlands, while the rest just…fade. I just…I wish there was more we could do. This isn’t how I thought it would be. This isn’t what it was _supposed_ to be. But…Crane runs things his own way, I guess.”

“You’re doing your best,” Bigby replied quietly. He was certain of that, if nothing else. “It’s all anyone can do.”

Snow gave a half-hearted smile. “You obviously don’t know what I do all day. Right now, when I’m not taking Crane’s calls or getting his lunch, I’m the gatekeeper, making sure none of these disenfranchised folks are, as he puts it, ‘wasting his time.’”

That hung heavily in the air for a long moment.

“You’ll fix it,” Bigby said, glancing at her. “If anyone can, you can.”

Snow’s smile turned sad. She appreciated his support, his seemingly unshakable faith in her, but she wasn’t sure it was deserved. Her eyes drifted to the seat in front of them. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly. “It’s just a broken system. The Fables who walk in through the back door, like Bluebeard—we have all the time in the world for them. You try and come in through the front door, through the _proper_ channels, asking for…anything—for someone to help, to _care_ —and…well, I turn you away.” She looked out her window. “Now things are worse off than they’ve ever been.”

“Well…that’s not true,” the sheriff offered quietly.

“Right,” Snow murmured with a sigh. “We’ve had it worse, but…not by much. I’ve just been thinking…”

“What?”

“Maybe this…maybe this just isn’t for me. I thought public service was…pure,” she mumbled, frowning at the word. “I know that must sound stupid to you, but—”

“It doesn’t,” Bigby assured her quickly. “It…you…you’re…”

Snow glanced at him, waiting for his next words patiently.

He struggled with them and looked down. “There are Fables who would give up a lot to be in the position you’re in, and…I think it’s easier to make things better from your spot.”

She cocked her head again. “You’re telling me change comes from within.”

“Sure.”

Snow gave a soft smile. “Not the advice I imagined hearing from you,” she admitted. “Do you really think so?”

“Yeah, Snow. You’re…under bad management, but…well, Crane is…a weak coward. He likes feeling in power, shouting orders, but you…” He sighed, avoiding her eyes as he continued. “You’re…different. You’re what Fabletown needs. You care, and you know that Crane’s way of doing things is wrong. If anyone can…fix this broken system, I know you can.”

Snow’s smile spread. High praise from the taciturn, reticent sheriff. “Thank you, Bigby,” she murmured softly.

He gazed unseeingly at his window, the warmth of her voice stealing into his own. “’Course, Snow.”

Snow played with her fingers for a long moment, replaying his words a few times. “Oh, what were you going to say?” she wondered.

He glanced at her. “Mm?”

“Before, when we…” She blushed again and chuckled once.

“Oh, I…nothing, just—thank you for…for coming with me today.”

She smiled at him again. “Of course, Bigby. Anytime.”

They returned to their own windows, lost in their own thoughts for several minutes before the cab jolted to a stop near the curb.

The Trip Trap’s neon sign flickered weakly, pointing the way to the below-ground bar. The cab idled as the driver glanced back through the clear divider. Snow held up a finger and smiled as Bigby took in the view. A man leaned against the wall, a joint held loosely between two fingers. A couple passed by, glancing into the cab with interest before they continued talking.

“Maybe…you should handle this one?” Snow mused.

“Yeah,” Bigby mumbled. “Good idea.” He glanced back at her briefly. Her ocean eyes threatened to drown him once more, and it took him a moment to extricate himself. He got out of the cab and closed the door a little distractedly. He didn’t make it very far before she called him back softly.

He returned at once, resting one hand on the cab’s roof as he leaned down to see her. Strands of his hair fell into his eyes, and Snow hesitated, her words briefly forgotten. He looked exceptionally handsome, his brown eyes unusually soft as he searched hers.

Bigby was a little distracted himself, closer to her than he meant to be. He hadn’t realized she’d scooted over to roll down the window, and now they were mere inches from each other. Her lips were a dark red under the low light. The neon sign behind him accentuated the contrast between her skin and hair even more as a light blush spread across her cheeks.

“Yeah, Snow?” he prompted quietly.

He heard her heart hammering in her chest past the uproarious sounds of the city. It in itself was a melody, one whose rhythm confused him. “I…um…” She frowned softly, her eyes holding his. “Just—be careful, Bigby. Please.”

The sheriff’s lips twitched as he fought a smile. “Same goes for you, Snow.”

A slow smile spread. She liked the way he said her name. She always had. “I will.”

Bigby watched her a second too long, drowning in her ocean eyes, and then he straightened slowly. Snow leaned up to give the driver the Woodlands’ address, and the cab got moving again. Bigby watched her go with a quiet sigh, and then he shook his head at himself. He rubbed the back of his neck, turned around, and took the stairs down to the bar. He tried to refocus his thoughts on the matter at hand, but she lingered at the back of his mind.

Bigby opened the door to the bar, straightened his loose tie a little, and stepped in. Despite the hour, the place wasn’t full. On the contrary, it was nearly empty, save a single customer hunched over his drink at the counter. The bartender, a woman with white hair and a purple butterfly tattoo across her collarbone, looked up and grimaced when she saw Bigby. Clearly, she recognized him; he knew her, too. The man at the counter followed Holly’s gaze and cast a cool glance over his shoulder. Twin gold earrings glimmered in the low light. Gren frowned at the sheriff and returned to his drink.

“What d’you want, Sheriff?” Holly demanded, placing a hand on her hip.

“I’m looking for the Woodsman,” Bigby answered honestly.

Gren gave a bitter snort.

“Well, he’s obviously not here,” the bartender muttered as she crossed her arms. “So, I guess you can go now. Thanks for stoppin’ in.”

“Look, I’m not even gonna ask where he is now, okay? I just wanna know the last time he was here. That’s it.” Neither of them said anything. The sheriff sighed heavily. “When did you see him last, Holly?”

“Who?” the bartender replied with a shrug. She picked up a wet glass and dried it with a towel.

Bigby brought his hands down on the counter a little heavily. “Look, I’m being nice here. So try again.”

Holly glared at the wall. “He hasn’t been here for weeks.” Her eyes suddenly flickered to Gren, a flash of uncertainty darkening her expression. The man gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and hunched over his drink again. “No,” Holly corrected. “Maybe. I don’t fuckin’ know. Look, he hasn’t been here in a while, if he’s been here at all. Which I don’t know.” She shrugged vaguely, giving Bigby a cool glare.

The sheriff glanced between her and Gren, his hands spread on the counter. He sighed, biting back the first few remarks that came to mind. “I’d just like some help,” he said quietly. Gren snorted again, and Bigby sighed indignantly. “I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll go. Let’s help each other out.”

“Sure, I’ll help you,” Holly muttered. “Help you right out the door. Would that help?”

Bigby looked pointedly at the stool beside him. There was a half-empty glass waiting for someone to return. The ice hadn’t even melted. “Well, well, what have we here?”

“Don’t play superior and dumb at the same time, Sheriff,” Holly grumbled. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Mind telling me who was sitting here?”

“Someone who left.”

“Then why didn’t you dump it?”

Gren tapped his glass idly. “You want a cleaner place, feel free to get the fuck outta here.”

Bigby glanced at him. “I’m sensing a very hostile tone from you,” he replied dryly. “Don’t deny it. I’m good at picking up on this stuff.”

Gren didn’t reply. Bigby looked at the bartender again, readying another request when his eyes drifted to the line of photos behind her. Polaroids were held up by long strings, looped across two of the four shelves of alcohol. One particular photo caught his attention. A bald man with a long, thick brown beard wearing a red and black checkered shirt was laughing drunkenly in frame. He grinned at the camera with a wide mouth. A woman’s arm was around his shoulders. Though she was out of frame, she was easily recognizable from her tattoo.

Bigby sighed heavily, leaning against the counter. “He a regular then?” he asked, gesturing with his chin to the photo.

Holly didn’t turn around. “I don’t know who you’re talkin’ about.”

“Bald head. Beard. Fancies himself something of a lumberjack. Carries a silver axe.”

“Never seen him.”

“Funny. Looks like you standin’ next to him in the photo.”

“That _is_ funny.”

Bigby grimaced. “Wonder what I gotta do to get this kind of loyalty.”

“Might try not bein’ such a dick all the fuckin' time,” Gren mumbled.

Bigby looked at him like he’d forgotten he was there. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Lotta stools in this place.”

“Only one next to you.”

Gren grimaced but didn’t reply. Bigby caught a flash of the man’s milky right eye and grimaced. His glamour was wearing off.

“Come on, Gren,” the sheriff muttered. “Have you seen the Woodsman or not?”

“I don’t know who that is,” he answered dryly.

“Big guy,” Bigby sighed tiredly. “Beard. Flannel. Kind of a shitbag. Hard to miss.”

Gren stared at his drink silently. His eyes seemed a little out-of-focus. 

“How ‘bout I buy you another?”

“How ‘bout you keep your drink ‘n piss off.”

“That’s okay. I don’t actually have any money.”

Holly leaned her hands against the bar irritably. “You gonna order anything,” she demanded, “or you just here to harass my customers?”

Bigby took a slow, pointed glance around the room.

The bartender’s scowl deepened. “You know what the fuck I mean. God, you’re such a prick. Do you want a fuckin’ drink or not?”

“Sure.”

“Thought you were tapped out,” she said.

“Put it on my tab.”

Holly’s expression darkened. “What do you want?”

“Midas’ Gold.”

“You want a lime?” she asked through her teeth.

“Sure.”

“I think they have some at the bar down the street.”

Gren snorted.

“Think that’s funny?” Bigby wondered, glancing at him.

“Yup. Think it’s fuckin’ hilarious.”

Bigby shrugged. “Yeah, it was alright.”

Holly slammed Bigby’s drink down so angrily that the sheriff was faintly surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Amber liquid sloshed onto the countertop, running off the end and dripping down to the floor.

“Come on, guys,” he sighed heavily. “This is getting ridiculous. No one’s happy about me being here, especially not me. The sooner you answer my questions, the sooner I’ll be out of your—”

The toilet in the back flushed. Bigby might not have thought much of it if Holly’s eyes hadn’t flashed wide. Bigby glanced at the door casually, listening to the tap water run for a minute. Someone whistled loudly as they washed up, and Holly stared at the door, as if willing something else to happen. Gren shook his head at his drink.

A few seconds later, the back door burst open, and a large man sauntered out, drying his hands on his shirt. “Hey, Holly,” he said in a friend voice unfamiliar to the sheriff, “you’re outta paper towels in the—” His eyes met Bigby’s, and he froze. His face was still mottled with bruises and bandages. His lip was split, his eye was black, and his nose had a new twist to it. His jaw behind his beard was horribly bruised from where it had been forced back into place. Looking at him, the sheriff supposed he knew why the man’s friends were reluctant to give him up.

Bigby offered a fake smile.

For a split second, the sheriff honestly thought Woody would run. The moment passed, and Woody sighed heavily instead as he fell onto his stool.

“Just gonna sit down?” Bigby mused. “Not even gonna say hi?”

Woody’s expression was taking on a faintly hollow look. His bruises were even more prominent under the glow of the beer sign on the wall. “You ‘n me’a been goin’ at this for hundreds of years. I’m through fightin’.”

“Well, Woody,” the sheriff muttered. “That makes two of us.” He glanced at Gren. “You’re in luck. I’ve decided to switch seats.”

He started to walk past Gren, but the man caught Bigby’s shoulder. He didn’t turn around or say anything, but he held him in place with a tight grip.

“Look,” Bigby sighed. “I’ve had a long day. I just want to talk. This doesn’t have to go down like this.”

Gren turned around slowly with a small but malicious grin. His right eye was even milkier as his glamour started wearing off in the nick of time.

“Maybe he don’t wanna talk,” Gren suggested.

“Why don’t we let him tell me that?”

“It’s okay, Gren,” Woody muttered in a defeated tone.

Gren gave Bigby a dark look. He pulled his hand off the sheriff roughly and settled back over his drink.

Bigby walked past him and sat beside the Woodsman. “It’s funny,” he mused. “Minute ago, no one seemed to even know who you were.”

“Yeah, well…everyone knows _you_. The Big Bad Wolf.” Woody gave a derisive snort. “Now I’m the bad guy, and you’re the sheriff. What kind’a fucked up world is that, huh?”

“Come on, Woody,” Bigby grumbled, his patience wearing thin. “You know why I’m here. Cut the bullshit.”

“You wanna know what happened.”

“We’ll start there, sure.”

Woody gave another humorless huff. “It’s funny…the shit you’re willin’ to do for money.” He shook his head, giving the counter a forlorn stare. “I’d walked past her place for weeks. She didn’t look like it, but she had money. I was sure of it. And she wouldn’t put up any kind’a fight.” Bigby glared at the wall, his hands tightening into fists on the counter. Unaware of the sheriff’s reaction, Woody continued with his eyes closed. “I was gonna rob her…and the night I finally get up the nerve to do it, there you are…Fuckin’ things up for me. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So what’s that this was all about?” Bigby demanded angrily. “A fucking _robbery_?”

“Yeah. Her ‘n her grandma.”

Bigby looked at the Woodsman. “ _Grandma_? Wait, what are you talking about?”

“Red Riding Hood,” he answered, glancing at the sheriff. “Her grandmother. I was there to rob ‘em, but when I showed up, you were already there.”

Bigby’s entire demeanor changed. Holly looked up when she sensed it, like a cloud passing over the bar. The casual, relaxed façade the sheriff had established was immediately replaced. His shoulders grew tense at the mention of his past, and his posture turned aggressive.

Woody didn’t notice. “I only saved her ‘cause…I thought she might give me a reward. But she didn’t give me shit, ‘cept a bunch’a people thinkin’ I’m somethin’ I ain’t.”

“I’m not here to talk about that,” Bigby said in a low, angry voice. “Quit dickin’ me around. I’m here about _Faith_. She was _murdered_.”

“What?” Woody frowned, looking up. “Faith? Who’s that?”

Bigby’s fist slammed down against the counter, jostling several glasses. Holly stepped back once, glancing warily at Gren. “The girl you were beating on this morning,” the sheriff said through his teeth. “Stop playing games with me, Woody. I’m not in the fucking mood.”

The Woodsman’s eyes flashed wide. “Wha—no!” Realization paled him. “She’s _dead_?! No, no—I-I was here! I woke up on the street outta it! I came here! I was here all night! I swear!” Woody jerked around shakily, gripping the sheriff’s arm. “Bigby, listen—Bigby, I-I’m a piece’a shit, okay? I know that. I hit that girl, I did! I shouldn’t’ve, but…but I didn’t _kill_ her! You believe me, right?! They’re gonna string me up, Bigby, throw me down the Witching Well! You know me! I’m a shitty person, but I’m—I’m no _murderer_!”

“He was here,” Gren barked. “That’s the fuckin’ truth, Sheriff.”

“You see?!” Woody said urgently, his voice growing even more imploring. His grip tightened on the sheriff to the point of pain. “Bigby, please, you can’t! They’ll—they’ll throw me down the Witching Well! That’s what they’ll do, and I didn’t do it! You know that!”

Bigby pushed his hand off his arm. “Calm the fuck down, Woody. I’m not here to—”

Gren slammed his glass down before Bigby could finish. “Fuck this,” he muttered, shoving off his chair hard enough to make it clatter to the ground.

“Hey, no!” Woody exclaimed, jumping up to stop Gren. “This isn’t what I want! Just let me—”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Woody!” Gren roared. “Shit ain’t just about you! It’s about this fuckin’ lap dog, only comes sniffin’ around this part’a town when his little leash holder sends him huntin’ for a shakedown. Ain’t that right, Bigby?”

“Lap dog?” Bigby repeated dryly. “Really?”

“Holly’s sister goes missin’, no one gives two shits about her. Paperwork, waiting rooms, _hours_ of our fuckin’ lives tryin’ to find her, ‘n that fuckin’ bitch Snow White—” Bigby looked up slowly. “—yeah, that fuckin’ _bitch_ Snow White lookin’ right past us—”

“Don’t call her that,” Bigby said through his teeth. “It’s happened before, and it doesn’t end well.”

Gren gave a furious snort. “Didn’t realize you were the bitch of the bitch.”

Bigby stood up and punched Gren hard enough that the man fell back over his stool. He crashed to the ground, gripping his jaw with a dark smirk. “What, that all you got?”

“Seemed to be enough.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

A flash of green light exploded through the room, and Bigby raised a hand to shield his eyes from the onslaught. He missed the initial transformation. When he looked back, Grendel was standing almost as tall as the room itself, glaring down at him.

The sheriff gave a heavy sigh. “Great.”

Grendel cracked his neck. Pale skin blanketed his body, white as a sheet. His eyes were both so milky that Bigby might have thought the creature blind if he wasn’t making direct eye contact. Grendel’s mouth was wide and jagged with sharp teeth so long they broke past his thin lips in an unnatural, unsettling grin. Built like an oversized gorilla, Grendel’s weight was balanced on the ground by broad fists. His shorter legs ended in massive talons that dug into the wooden floor, piercing into it when he shifted.

Grendel leaned in closer and stopped mere inches from Bigby’s face. “Should’a walked outta here when you had the chance,” he muttered in a low, inhuman growl.

“C’mon,” the sheriff replied calmly. “Knock it off. You’re scarin’ the lady.”

Holly scoffed. “Don’t worry about me.”

Another flash of green briefly blinded Bigby. He did a doubletake when he glanced at the bartender. The beautiful white-haired woman had shifted into a massive white-haired troll. Her dress stretched over her body easily without giving way. The purple tattoo laced across her mottled maroon skin had grown even more artistic in her natural state. Iridescent hues of purples and blues seemed almost fluorescent against her skin. Elaborately long wings arced across her collarbone, more pronounced in her troll form. One disappeared over her shoulder to her back while the other trailed across the swell of her breast below her dress. Holly’s eyes flashed open, red and yellow in the dim light, and Bigby sighed again.

Before he could react or try to prevent the escalation, Grendel whipped his arm back and slammed it into Bigby’s chest. It felt like what the sheriff imagined a semitruck would feel like. Bigby hit the counter several feet away, his back cracking against the wooden structure. He tried to grab Woody’s mug to throw it, but Holly’s clawed, cold hand clamped over his, firmly keeping the mug in place. Grendel snatched Bigby off the ground with a tight, suffocating grip and thrust him up to the ceiling fan. Wooden blades whipped around and caught the sheriff in the ribs. They whacked against his chest mercilessly until he recovered enough to grip the base of the fixture. He tore the whole thing from the ceiling with a growl. Wires sparked wildly, electricity snapping off loose ends dangerously. Bigby threw the fan down at Grendel’s face. The creature barely reacted. He tightened his grip on Bigby’s torso and threw him to the ground so hard the wooden floor cracked.

The air rushed from Bigby’s lungs, and he felt a wild whip of adrenaline that threatened to bring the first threshold crashing over him. Bigby gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists against the floor as he fought the survival instinct back. Breathlessly, with aching ribs, Bigby pulled himself up to his hands and knees—or tried to. Grendel grabbed his waist before he could and flung him across the room like a ragdoll. The sheriff’s back slammed against the wall. His lungs deflated with a groan, and he collapsed on the ground heavily. The first threshold itched at the back of his mind, promising reprieve, but he shook his head to clear it away, fighting so hard for control that he could barely see Grendel.

He pulled himself up at the same time Grendel tossed a wooden table across the room. Bigby lunged forward to avoid it and stumbled against the wall as the table broke against the wall. Grendel ripped the public phone off the wall as Bigby grabbed a coat rack. He pirouetted swiftly around the creature’s sweeping fist and ran the pointed end of the rack into Grendel’s chest. The tip broke through skin easily, blood running down the creature’s torso swiftly. Grendel roared in response. Bigby forced him back through the room to the counter with his newfound leverage. When his back hit the bar, Grendel grabbed the coat rack and snapped it in half. He pulled the end out of his shoulder with a rumbling growl and threw it aside.

He grabbed Bigby’s leg and hurled him overhead. Bigby hit the ground so hard he was sure he’d black out. He grunted instead and coughed up a dizzying amount of blood. Grendel’s fingers tightened on his leg, and the sheriff tried to grab something to anchor himself. Before he could, the creature wrenched him up off the floor again. He threw him into another wall as hard as he could. A rib cracked, and Bigby wheezed as he collapsed on the floor.

Grendel showed no mercy. He grabbed him and threw him across the room again.

Woody and Holly watched in horror as the sheriff rolled several times. He choked and coughed up another glob of blood as he tried to pull himself up. Grendel forced him back to the ground relentlessly. Woody stared at Bigby when his eyes flashed a bright, brilliant yellow. The sheriff squeezed them shut, his hands curling into weak fists as he struggled. Woody realized, with a shock, what had handicapped the sheriff. For a long moment, he stood in disbelief, watching Bigby get tossed around. The sheriff barely seemed to be putting up a fight, and Woody realized exactly why every time he saw yellow eyes flash and close tightly.

“Stop!” Woody managed to shout from the counter. “He—he’s had enough, Gren! Stop!”

Grendel ignored him, tossing Bigby to another wall. A picture frame shattered across the sheriff’s back, cutting into his skin. Bigby landed on the ground hard, one hand shakily lifting to his broken ribs. He pressed his forehead to the ground, struggling to maintain control, but he was shaking violently. He knew the first threshold would take over at any moment; the fact that he’d lasted this long felt like something of a miracle. Snow flashed into his mind, but the memory didn’t calm him; it only added to his baser survival instinct, redoubling its power over him.

He groaned and gritted his teeth. Every time he crossed a threshold, he never knew if he’d be able to find his way back again. Worse than that, he feared what he might do when a stronger, angrier mind took control.

Holly noticed his struggle too. She was disturbed by the way her anger simmered, but she chose not to overthink the reaction. “Gren, knock it off already. Woody’s right; he’s had enough.”

The creature was too far gone to listen to reason. He grabbed Bigby’s waist and threw him across the room one final time. The sheriff hit the pool table, rolled over it, and fell to the ground with a grunt. Pain blinded him, and then his vision changed.

Grendel grabbed Bigby’s leg and dragged him slowly across the floor. Holly watched unhappily, but her expression shifted from mild concern to sheer terror in the blink of an eye. Woody glanced at her warily when a low, long sound emanated from the floor beneath Bigby’s hands. Thick, black claws dug deep into the wooden floor as he was dragged, the sound growing from hollow to resounding.

Woody pressed against the wall, his eyes widening.

Grendel was the only one who seemed indifferent to the development. He didn’t stop dragging the wolf until Bigby’s claws had dug in deep enough to force him to. He turned and huffed a quiet laugh. He picked the changing half-werewolf up and threw him as hard as he could.

Bigby caught himself on the counter near Woody. The Woodsman stared at the wolf, his heard pounding at the beast’s emergence. Bigby’s brown eyes were now a fierce yellow that reflected the light back brilliantly. They were growing wilder and wilder the longer he glared at Grendel. His bared teeth had sharpened into fangs, and his long claws dug into the counter as he crouched. The hair on his arms had grown longer and thicker, and he reached up to loosen his tie a little. He got down off the counter slowly, finding his footing like a wolf on the prowl.

Grendel laughed again and launched himself at Bigby. The half-werewolf dodged lithely, flashed his claws, and scratched them across Grendel’s neck as the creature sailed past him. Grendel hit the ground with a roar, lifting a pale hand to his bleeding neck. He ground his teeth together and lunged at the wolf again. Bigby caught his arm and forced the massive creature to the ground with an impossible display of strength.

Holly and Woody exchanged another loaded look, but neither could manage to loosen their frozen forms to leave or intervene.

Bigby’s claws slashed across Grendel’s back, ripping open five long wounds. Grendel howled and struggled for a moment before he found his feet. He grabbed Bigby around the middle and ran him across the room. Bigby twisted in the grip and thrust his claws deep into Grendel’s shoulder. The creature howled again as tendons and muscles alike were severed. He ran blindly into the wall, breaking the back counter in half before he collapsed on the ground.

The creature lifted a hand to his shoulder with another roar and stood up weakly. The wolf didn’t wait for an attack; he jumped agilely to the creature’s back, digging one hand’s claws in deep to stay balanced. Grendel tried to grab him without success. The wolf flashed the claws of his other hand and ripped them across Grendel’s eye. Four long gashes tore open across his cheek and brow, scarring his face. Grendel shouted wordlessly as Bigby’s claws repeated the motion on his chest, long slices that reached up to the creature’s neck.

Woody shook his head, his eyes wide. Another mind had taken Bigby over—one that would fight for its own survival above all else.

The wolf flashed his claws once more. He tore them across Grendel’s throat easily. Blood pooled and ran down the pale creature’s skin, puddling on the floor as Grendel swung around to grab the wolf. He finally threw himself back, slamming Bigby into the wall as hard as he could. The wolf growled in fury, the sound shaking through the room. He grabbed a pool stick off the rack beside him and tore it in half. He thrust one end into Grendel’s shoulder as deeply as possible, severing more nerves and tendons until the creature’s arm swung limply at his side. Grendel cried out and fell to his knees. Bigby hopped down and kicked the back of the creature’s knee. Grendel fell to one side against the pool table, his fingers shaking. Bigby stomped on his leg again hard enough that it snapped as easily as the pool stick. The creature whimpered and sagged. Bigby lunged forward, a blind thirst pumping the blood in his veins that demanded revenge, victory, survival.

The wolf grabbed Grendel’s limp arm and pulled it up high.

Woody jerked forward when he read the wolf’s intention. “ _Stop_! H-he’s had enough!” he shouted hoarsely. The wolf didn’t seem to hear him. “Stop! Sheriff!” The wolf started pulling on Grendel’s arm, his yellow eyes wild with fury. “ _Bigby_!”

Yellow eyes flickered up. Holly was pressed against the wall, her face pale and terrified. Woody was staring at him wide-eyed as far away as he could get in the small room.

They were looking at him like he was a—

Bigby’s eyes dimmed to a dull yellow. He looked at his clawed hands, at what he was doing, what he was _about_ to do.

He dropped Grendel’s arm and staggered back a few steps. The creature fell to one side, clutching his shoulder with a long, agonized whimper.

Holly was shaking against the bar. Bottles rattled quietly on the shelves behind her. Everyone knew the Wolf and what he’d been, what he’d done—what he was still capable of doing—but few ever saw it in action. In the Homelands, few ever lived to tell any tales, but Holly had never realized the truth of the matter before this moment. She’d never seen this side of Bigby; she’d always assumed the stories from the Homelands were dramatized for effect, to give the Big Bad Wolf more grandeur than he deserved, or perhaps as a tactic from the Business Office to make sure the sheriff was feared. But looking at Gren now, at the blood soaking through the boards of her bar, at the destruction that looked like a tornado had run through the room, Holly was terrified. The sheriff who had entered the bar with his dry humor and lazily sarcastic tone seemed a distant memory, and, fair or not, Holly realized it didn’t matter who had started the fight when _this_ was the result.

Holly shook even more when she realized this half-werewolf form was only the first of three. She couldn’t imagine the others—didn’t want to.

Bigby’s hands were clenched into tight fists as he panted, his lungs expanding impossibly widely under his shirt. He turned, his yellow eyes finding Holly’s, and she found herself recoiling.

He walked slowly to the bar and pressed his clawed, hairy hands to its surface tensely. “Whiskey,” he growled, his eyes crazed.

Holly stared at him mutely for a long moment, and then she lunged forward under the counter. She grabbed a shot glass and set it down shakily. Before she could reach the whiskey bottle, Bigby had thrown the empty glass aside. It shattered against the wall, startling the troll even more.

“Double,” the wolf ordered in a foreign tone.

Holly found a bigger glass and set it as close to him as she dared reach. She poured the drink as fast as he could. Her hands shook so violently that the neck of the bottle clattered noisily against the rim of the glass. Behind the wolf, Grendel was starting to cry softly on the ground, blood pooling and bathing the room in the unmistakable scent of copper.

Bigby threw the whiskey back, downing the whole thing in two swallows. He grimaced at the burn and closed his eyes tightly. Holly watched, trembling as Bigby bent a little at the waist. A gasp escaped his clenched teeth as he underwent another change. Bigby’s claws shrank back. The long hairs on his arms receded, his teeth grew smaller, and his pointed ears rounded out again. Bigby kept his eyes shut for a long moment, his fists clenched tightly against the bar. When he was back in his human form, he relaxed and breathed out slowly. He opened his eyes, and Holly was mildly relieved to see they were his usual brown, though they were still a little wild around the edges.

The sheriff glanced up at Holly and reached into his pocket. “Shit,” he muttered gruffly when he remembered he didn’t have any cash.

“It’s…not like you were gonna pay for it anyway,” Holly replied hoarsely.

Woody was slowly backing away, watching the sheriff warily. Bigby leaned against the bar, staring at the wood grain a little vacantly.

“Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled.

Woody stopped and gestured to Grendel. “This the kind of treatment I can expect if I let you take me in?”

“He started it.”

“You hit him first!”

“Yeah, but he was being an asshole.”

Woody frowned at Bigby, relieved at least to see the man’s tone had returned to normal. Despite that, Bigby was still tense around the shoulders, and it was clear that it would take precious little to set him off again.

Grendel was still crying quietly, his fingers tight around his aching shoulder. The sheriff closed his eyes tightly and hung his head as his hands slowly closed into fists again.

He didn’t have long to wallow. The door to the bar burst open, and someone waked in loudly and confidently. Bigby turned around slowly to see one of the Tweedles.

Dee was busy unwrapping a lollipop, his eyes focused on the task. “Alright,” he called jovially, “I got a hundred bucks for the first bloke who can tell me something about a girl…named…” Dee stared in shock at Grendel. He looked up anxiously to see Bigby at the counter.

“Fuck!” he shouted. “What the fuck?!”

Bigby took a few steps towards Dee. In an instant, Woody was tearing out of the room, tripping over a bar stool. The sheriff glanced back, and Dee whipped around, running for the front door. Bigby scowled and made a split decision. He launched himself at Dee before the man could leave. The sheriff grabbed him and pinned him against the wall, twisting his arm high behind his back.

“Fuck, man! That’s not necessary!”

Bigby looked over in time to see Woody slip out the back. “Shit.”

“He’s the one you want, not me!”

“Your brother won’t be saving you this time. C’mon, Dee. I have some questions for you.”

“ _C’mon_ , Sheriff,” Dee complained as Bigby pulled his other arm behind his back to cuff him. “You’re wasting time chasing your own damn tail! We’re on the same side! How many times I gotta tell you that?! And what the fuck happened here?! I mean, forgive me, Sheriff, if I seem a little _resistant_ to go with you into the night!”

“Shut up, Dee,” the sheriff grumbled. He pulled him off the wall and marched him out of the demolished bar.

“Don’t tell me we’re walking the whole way there,” Dee complained when Bigby led him down the sidewalk.

“I said shut up.”

“Are you light on cash? Because I’ll lend you some for the cab. C’mon, Bigby, it’s like a furnace out here! Some nice, cool air-conditioning. That’ll calm you down.”

“I’m perfectly calm.”

Dee snorted. “Yeah, so Gren beat the shit out of himself, did he?”

“Dee, if you don’t shut the fuck up—”

“You’ll what? Thrash me, too? In public? With all these witnesses?”

Bigby raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long walk.

***

Dee had finally shut up. After he determined Bigby would neither humor nor believe him, he fell silent. Bigby had been marching him down the street for well over an hour. They were just rounding the block to the Woodlands when flashing red and blue lights caught Bigby’s attention. He jerked his head up to see half a dozen police cars lining the street in front of the luxury apartments. Something low settled in his stomach and made him stop walking—dread, he realized. He pulled Dee back and undid one of his cuffs to slap it around a street sign.

“Do anything stupid,” the threatened through his teeth, “and I’ll throw you down the Witching Well myself.”

Dee glared up at him silently. Bigby turned away and rounded the corner again. He approached the scene quickly. The mundy cops were too busy to notice him. He slipped under the police line easily, anxiety making his chest tight. On the other side of the line, Beast was gripping a mundy officer’s arm as he tried to break through, fear in his eyes. Another wave of dread washed over Bigby. Had something happened to Beauty?

Bigby approached the gates. As he did, a young mundy cop came stumbling out, gagging into his hands. He made it a few feet before he fell to his knees and vomited. Bigby’s heart began to hammer in his chest fast enough to make him lightheaded. He heard someone calling after him by name, begging him not to go in, but he ignored it. His chest grew tight again when he realized it was Beauty’s voice—relief and fear in equal measures. Down the long, shaded path, four officers were kneeling and standing around the steps to the apartment complex, exactly where Snow had found Faith’s head early this morning.

Bigby edged closer, his breaths growing shallow. When he got to the officers, he stepped to one side to peer over their shoulders.

His heart stopped.

He stared down at the stairs, unable to process what he was looking at. It took several long seconds for reality to slowly settle over him, and then horror replaced disbelief.

“No,” he breathed. “No…no, _no_!”

“Sir! You can’t be back here! Get him out of here!”

Bigby fought the hands that tried to pull him back, his eyes glued on the stairs. “No, no—let me go! Let me—no!”

Bigby wrestled with the cops so violently that they had to call for backup. Officers jogged down the path as Beauty and Beast watched from the police line. Crane stood numbly alone, his eyes widening even more. From his position on the street, he couldn’t see what lay on the stairs to the Woodlands, but he knew there was only one person in the world who mattered this much to the sheriff. Crane raised a hand to his mouth, his vision blurring with the possibility. 

The sheriff’s hoarse voice reached the bystanders’ ears. Beauty eyes flooded at the name he shouted, and she gripped Beast’s arm, folding herself into him as she watched. Beast held onto her tightly, his hands shaking a little. The sheriff wrestled against the officers trying hold him; Beauty raised a hand to her mouth when even a dozen men could manage to subdue him. One of them shouted to the others and pulled his baton from his belt. He struck Bigby over the head as hard as he could, and Beauty cringed into Beast again.

The sheriff fell to his knees, his vision swimming, and the last thing he saw was the bright, crimson puddle of blood pooled beneath Snow White’s severed head.


	7. Smoke and Mirrors

Bigby was in shock.

It had been hours since he’d been hauled away from the Woodlands. He didn’t even know how many.

He couldn’t hear the woman talking to him. He couldn’t see the table beneath his hands or feel the cuff around his right wrist. He couldn’t even feel the heat of the boiling room. In fact, he felt very, very cold.

Ocean eyes were staring into his through the camera lens. Lifeless. Unseeing. Her skin was paler than normal. Ghostly. Unreal. Her lips had fallen open, but there was no witty comment or snarky reply she’d prepared. The blood under her head had knotted her raven hair, short black locks tangled at the nape of her severed neck.

Bigby had seen all manner of things, both before and after the Exodus. He had seen gruesome murders and mangled victims of senseless crimes. He had seen children slaughtered and eaten by bloodhungry creatures in the Homelands and young women burned alive on stakes during the Salem Witch Trials. He had seen wars and battles; he had killed and seen others killed. He’d had blood soak through his clothes and had his paws mottled with entrails, but none of it had ever shaken him to his core.

But sitting in a stifling room with ice gripping his spine, Bigby was sure he was going to be sick.

“ _Mr. Wolf_!” the woman shouted, slamming her hand down on the table between them.

It was enough to make him recoil in surprise. He looked up from the photograph on the table, unable, at first, to recognize his surroundings. It was a long moment before he blinked and breathed out slowly.

The detective was staring at him, waiting for him to acknowledge her, to even act like he had heard her. His gaze fell back to the photo in front of him hollowly. Snow’s eyes looked straight at him—why hadn’t he stayed with her? She would still be here if he had. Why did he leave her? Why didn’t he—

“Mr. _Wolf_ ,” the detective said again, trying in vain to catch his eye. She glanced exasperatedly at the one-way mirror and then sat back in her chair, appraising their suspect.

Or, who was _supposed_ to be their suspect. Looking at him now, though, Detective Brannigan was having doubts. Either he was one hell of an actor, or this was real.

His eyes were haunted and bloodshot. His tanned skin was pale. He looked…Brannigan frowned at the first word that came to mind. He looked devastated. Devastated, exhausted, drained. His expression had a faintly disbelieving note, like he thought he might wake up at any minute—or hoped he would. His fingers were trembling on the table and had been for several hours now, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Brannigan considered it a mercy when she reached across the table, took the photograph, and dragged it away.

The sheriff followed Snow’s eyes until the picture flipped over, and then he stared at the wood grain beneath his hands with wide, unseeing eyes.

“Mr. Wolf, you’re making this more difficult than it has to be.”

A repetitive, red flicker in the corner of the room reminded Bigby of the video camera capturing his every move. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it or the detective.

“If you’d just cooperate and answer my questions, you could go home, maybe get some sleep.”

Bigby reached slowly across the table to the cigarette pack Brannigan had let him keep. He pulled one out and picked the lighter up off the table. His hands were shaking so badly that he couldn’t hit the switch. The longer he struggled, the more the detective’s expression softened. She was on the verge of lighting the cigarette for him when the flame suddenly flared up. The lighter clattered to the table, and Bigby took a long drag.

“How are you feeling?” Brannigan asked quietly. “I know it’s been a long night for you. You…look like you could use some rest.”

Bigby flicked the end of his cigarette into the ashtray, swallowing thickly against another wave of nausea. The nicotine helped calm his nerves, but it was by no means enough to unclench the knot in his chest.

“Look, I…I know what you must be going through,” the detective murmured sympathetically. Bigby’s eyes finally flashed up to hers, and she registered the abject hostility in them. It verged on hatred, though she logically knew the emotion was misplaced. “You and I want the same thing here, Mr. Wolf, to find who did this.”

Bigby’s expression grew murderous, and the detective backpedaled.

“Alright,” she conceded calmly. “You’re right. I don’t know what you’re going through right now. So why don’t you walk me through it? Talk to me, Mr. Wolf. I want to understand what you're thinking. I want to help you.”

How many times had he said the same thing to someone on the worst day of their life?

Bigby’s fingers were still shaking when he brought the cigarette back to his mouth. He lifted his hand higher to cover his eyes briefly. The fluorescent lights above were glaringly bright. He rubbed his temple and then put his fist back on the table.

The detective stared at him, sighing in frustration. She glanced at the one-way mirror again and then jotted down a couple notes in Bigby’s case file about his shakiness, his refusal to speak. Shock, she was certain, but the glare he’d given her indicated that he _was_ listening. The only thing that had really gotten his attention was empathy. Brannigan looked up at him. Maybe if she pushed him hard enough, he’d explode, and they’d finally get somewhere.

Brannigan leaned forward and folded her hands on the table calmly. “I’ve been on the force a long time, Mr. Wolf. I’ve seen a lot in this city, but nothing like this. I know this must be difficult for you.” She saw his fist tighten. “Clearly, this…” She knew the woman’s name, but she made a show of searching for it. Bigby’s hands shook more, and he glared up at her furiously, a raw mix of grief and hate making his eyes seem wild. “Clearly this Snow White was important to you. I’m sure her loss is hitting you hard.” Bigby’s eyes squeezed tight, and the muscles of his arms tensed. Brannigan was close. She just needed to push a little further. “I understand how trying this is, but I need your help to solve this case, Mr. Wolf. We can’t find her killer if we can’t piece together the story.”

She thought she’d lost him at the end. She thought he wasn’t going to rise to the bait, and he didn’t—not at first, and not in the way she anticipated.

He waited until she made another note in her notebook to finally speak for the first time in hours.

“What is it with you cops?” he wondered, his voice hoarse and rough. “Always trying to empathize with people. ‘I know this must be hard for you.’ Do you?” His volume raised, and he hit the table with one hand, the chain of the handcuffs rattling loudly. “Do you _fucking_ know?! Have you had a friend killed and her head left on your _fucking doorstep_?!”

Brannigan licked her lips and looked away almost nervously.

Bigby fell back into his chair, feeling even more drained from the outburst. “I didn’t think so.” He stared at the table for a long moment until the scent of copper made him look up again. “Your nose is bleeding,” he added quietly.

Brannigan frowned and lifted her fingers to her upper lip. She wiped the blood away as her eyes widened. Bigby heard her heartbeat pick up. Beads of blood dripped from her nose more quickly, slipping off her chin to land on her notebook. She started breathing more quickly and gripped the table.

Bigby sat up. “Are you okay?”

She stared at him unseeingly, her eyes growing wider.

“De…Detective Brannigan?”

“ _I’m_ Detective Brannigan,” she corrected with a frown.

“Yeah, I…I know. Is there some—”

She whipped around in her chair, staring at the interview room door. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

“Hear what?”

Brannigan gasped and lifted her hands to her ears, cringing. “Please, please…”

“Detective? What’s—”

“What _is_ that?” she cried, pressing her hands tighter over her ears. Something hit the once-way mirror and slid down on the other side of the glass. “I’m sorry,” Brannigan whimpered. “Just—please, make it stop. Make it—” She cried out again and then fell forward. Her head hit the table, blood staining her notes. Her heartbeat stopped.

Bigby stared at her in shock, frozen for a split second before he kicked himself into action. “Detective Brannigan?” He stood abruptly, reaching for her. He felt her wrist, relieved when he felt a weak, thready pulse.

The door opened quickly, and Bigby glanced up, his eyes widening a little before he growled.

“Crane?” he demanded. “What the hell?”

“We have to go! Now!” the deputy mayor whispered urgently, carrying a box labeled _Evidence_.

“What the fuck is going on? What did you do to her?”

“You should be thanking me!” Crane snapped indignantly. “It’s just a memory-wipe spell. Very expensive, so it took me some time to convince the Witches to give it to me for free, but it works. The whole station will forget the last twenty-hour hours and everything they saw at the Woodlands.” Crane frowned at Bigby. “Well?! Hurry up! Grab everything!”

Bigby reached across the table to Brannigan’s belt for the key. He undid his cuff and grabbed his cigarette pack. Crane pulled the case file out from under the detective’s head slowly and dropped it in the box. Bigby turned to the camera, took out the cassette tape, and tossed it to Crane. He ripped out a couple sheets of the detective’s notes, folded them, and threw them in the evidence box. Crane turned around and hurried out of the room. Bigby was about to follow him when he saw the one thing the other man had missed in his haste. He returned to the table and forced himself to avoid the photo as he grabbed it. He took another look around the room for anything he’d forgotten, and then he followed the deputy mayor out.

***

Bigby hadn’t known Crane owned a car.

Maybe that was something he should have known, but he’d always figured the man was too anxious to drive himself anywhere. Yet here they were, rumbling down the street in Crane’s blue Cadillac, merging smoothly with traffic while Bigby stared out the window unseeingly.

It was a long time before Bigby managed to refocus his thoughts. He glanced at Crane, clearing his throat softly. Crane pretended to adjust the rearview mirror.

“Shit,” the sheriff muttered in a rough voice. “Uh…thanks for…bailing me out.”

Crane nodded stiffly, glancing at him sideways. “Certainly.”

Bigby returned to the window.

“We, uh, found Tweedle Dee chained up to a signpost near the Woodlands. That was…your doing, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I don’t know _why_ you detained him. He was at the Trip Trap with you when Snow was killed.” Crane missed the way Bigby flinched. “So, he couldn’t possibly be involved in this mayhem.”

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes, leaning his elbow on the windowsill. “He’s obviously working for someone, Crane, and whoever it is wants him snooping around every crime scene I’ve looked at.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean they’re involved in the murders.”

Bigby stared out the window again. He didn’t have the energy to argue.

The car idled at a streetlight, and Crane’s hands fell away from the wheel. He sighed quietly, his eyes falling. “I…I know what you’re thinking, Bigby. It’s been one full night and a slice of morning, and I already miss her, too.”

Bigby closed his eyes briefly before resuming his vacant stare outside.

The light changed, and the car started moving as Crane continued. “You know…I never get more homesick than when one of us dies. And now…for it to be _Snow_ —”

“Crane,” Bigby warned.

“All I mean to say is…well, I’ve never been good with these sorts of things. I just can’t believe this is really happened.”

The sheriff rested his fingers over his eyes again.

“I…I know that you…well…I know that you two were close, and I—”

“Crane,” Bigby barked, glaring at him briefly. “Stop.”

The other man sighed. “Our stories used to be so simple. We had a beginning, a middle, and an end. But since we moved to this awful city, everything’s gotten so confused.” Crane shook his head, glancing sideways at Bigby. The sheriff looked drained and hollow, but Crane didn’t desist. “Did she, um…give you any indication as to what she was thinking…? When you last saw her, I mean. What did she say?”

“She just…told me to be careful,” Bigby answered quietly.

Crane looked at him again. “She was always so fond of you, Bigby.”

The sheriff closed his eyes again, keeping his fingers over them.

“I don’t know what else to say, Bigby. We…we have to put an end to this.” Crane pulled over to the curb outside the Woodlands. Bigby slowly moved his hand down and stared straight ahead. “It’s been two murders in as many days. If we don’t unearth our culprit, and _soon_ , there will likely be another on our doorstep tonight!”

“I’ll get it done,” Bigby muttered in a hollow voice. He got out of the car slowly, his eyes on the ground.

“Please, Bigby. For Miss White.”

“I got it,” the sheriff barked. He slammed the car door so hard the glass cracked. He shoved the gates open angrily, hearing them crash against the stone pillars behind them as he stormed through the courtyard. He tried not to focus on the tightness in his chest or how difficult it was becoming to breathe. Instead, he clung to the rage that made his hands shake and let that overwhelm the rest.


	8. Chapter 8

Bigby heard Bluebeard’s voice well before Crane did. The man was speaking quietly, but the hard, violent edge to his tone left little to the imagination. Bigby quickened his pace, urging Crane to walk faster as the other led him through the Woodland’s basement. The hidden back room was reserved as a makeshift jail cell in a pinch, but it hadn’t been used for that purpose in a long time. The fact that Dee had been brought there was, in itself, troubling. Especially since he was apparently alone with the ruthless Bluebeard.

“That’s not a very good answer, is it?” Bigby heard Bluebeard muse. A loud thud followed his words—the slap of skin against skin. “Just tell me what I want to know. It will make things a lot less painful for you…in theory.”

Dee spat loudly and hummed. “Oh, were you plannin’ on _usin’_ that? I just thought you really liked rubbin’ your little sword.”

“You ignorant fuck!”

Bigby and Crane entered in time to see Bluebeard put a knife to Dee’s throat, drawing a drop of blood. Dee was badly wounded. Blood and sweat beaded his skin in equal measures as he sat tied too tightly to a chair in the corner of the narrow chamber.

The sheriff lurched forward as soon as he was through the door. He grabbed Bluebeard’s arm, shoving the taller man back several steps.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Crane shrieked, glaring at Bluebeard.

The man grimaced, though his expression lacked any sense of shame. “Hello, Ichabod. Sheriff. Good of you two to join us. I was just chatting with our new friend here.”

“He’s not yours to detain,” Bigby said through his teeth.

“Oh, Bigby,” Dee hummed. “Didn’t know you had such a soft spot for me!”

“Shut up. And you,” he muttered, pointing at Bluebeard, “get the hell out of here. Now.”

“You were supposed to wait for us to get back!” Crane shouted, slamming the door closed bitterly. “I told you that if you wanted to be involved, you’d have to do things my way! _No violence_!”

Bluebeard gave a thin smile. “Whatever you say, Ichabod.”

“Good to see you again, Bigby,” Dee mused, spitting a glob of blood out onto the floor. He grinned widely, revealing crimson-stained teeth.

Bigby crossed his arms, his expression grave. “I want answers, Dee.”

“That’s a relief. I thought you wanted questions, ‘n I was havin’ so much trouble thinkin’ of any good ones. Though, I had settled on, ‘how’s your head?’”

“See what I’ve been dealing with?” Bluebeard scoffed. “A firm hand is all these cowards understand. They don’t care about honor or integrity.”

“You’re one to talk,” Crane said under his breath.

“Excuse me?”

“I said _no violence_! This is _my_ —”

“I was getting answers!”

“Yeah?” Bigby challenged, turning on him angrily. “What answers?”

It was Bluebeard’s turn to glower. “I _would_ have gotten answers, if you two hadn’t interrupted. He was ready to talk!”

“I really wasn’t,” Dee murmured, feigning confidentiality with Bigby.

Bigby’s hands tightened into fists as Bluebeard, Crane, and Dee began bickering back and forth like children. He made an honest effort to maintain control, to think before he acted—that’s what she would have wanted him to do.

Bluebeard’s torture obviously hadn’t worked; brute force wasn’t the answer with Dee. They needed to be smarter.

Bigby grabbed a chair and pulled it over. He spun it around and sat down, resting his arms across the back. Everyone fell silent, waiting for what would happen next.

“Dee,” Bigby said quietly but forcefully. “Listen to me. Snow White is dead.” He hated the way his voice broke on her name; it was a weakness he’d never had. What made it worse was that everyone in the room heard it.

Dee’s eyes flickered to the side, and then he shrugged. “Look, I didn’t kill anyone, alright, Bigby?”

“I know you didn’t do this. I was with you. I’m not accusing you. I just need answers.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” Dee mumbled, but his words lacked their usual flair.

“This is ridiculous,” Bluebeard snarled under his breath.

“Shh,” Crane snapped. “Let him work. Need I remind you that he has more experience with these kinds of things than you and I _combined_?!”

Bigby ignored them. “Back in the alley…” The sheriff’s mind flashed mercilessly to Snow at his side when he woke up, staring down at him with that amused smile of hers. It made him falter and drop his eyes.

Everyone noticed that, too.

Bigby’s expression hardened. He hadn’t had time process, to realize what this meant—but now sure as hell wasn’t the time. Not yet, not until he’d found who killed her and—

And what? What _did_ he intend to do?

He knew what he _wanted_ to do. It thrummed in his veins, a bloodlust that demanded revenge.

But that’s not what she would’ve wanted. Justice. A new system, one that was better than vengeance and vendettas. Their last conversation had to mean something. Bigby wouldn’t forget it.

The sheriff looked up at Dee again, struggling to maintain his composure. “Back in the alley, you mentioned your employer. Who is it? Who are you working for?”

“Why? Lookin’ to change your occupation?”

Bigby’s hands closed into fists again. “Why were you at Faith’s apartment?”

“Girl had air-conditioning,” Dee shrugged. “Hard to come by these days, what with this heat wave.”

“I’m not fucking around here, Dee,” Bigby said through his teeth, his temper flaring. He forced himself to breathe out slowly and unclench his fists.

“He shouldn’t be doing this,” Bluebeard muttered at a volume he thought Bigby couldn’t hear.

“He is exactly the one who should be doing this,” Crane hissed at an even lower pitch.

“He’s distracted. He’s clearly grieving. Let me take over; I’ll get us answers if—”

“Absolutely not,” Crane snapped. “We made him sheriff for a _reason_.”

Bigby tuned them out as best he could. He focused all his attention on Dee, doing his best to empty his mind of everything else.

Blood dripped down Dee’s chin, staining his collar. The cuffs on his hands were so secure that his fingers had a mild blueish hue. “Those look tight,” Bigby muttered.

“Can barely feel my fingers,” Dee shrugged lightly. He sneered. “Say, mind loosenin’ for me?”

Bigby surprised him by leaning forward. Dee involuntarily cringed, expecting a hit, but the sheriff simply adjusted the cuffs one at a time, moving them back three notches.

Dee breathed out heavily, moving and stretching his hands out. “Ah, that’s better.”

“Tell me what you were doing at Faith’s apartment.”

The Tweedle sighed. “Look, Bigby, we’re not on opposite sides here. I’m trying to get to the bottom of things, same as you.”

“It’d go faster if we worked together.”

Dee smirked. “True, but that’s not gonna happen. My brother ‘n I have our own methods. Perks of being private investigators.”

“Your brother,” Bigby mused. Dee’s face fell. “Where was he last night?”

Dee composed his expression just as fast. “Couldn’t say. Could’a been anywhere.”

“Take your best guess,” Bluebeard snapped.

“He didn’t _do_ it, if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” Dee snorted. “Say what you will ‘bout me brother ‘n me, but we ain’t killers.” Dee’s eyes gleamed as he appraised Bigby. “Not like _you_ , Sheriff.”

Bigby didn’t take the bait. “Then where is he?”

“Oh no,” Dee chuckled. “I’m not sendin’ you after my brother. Family _means_ something, Sheriff, not that you would know a thing like that. Look, I answered your question. Can I get my stuff back now? I’m afraid I have a pressing previous engagement.”

Bigby glanced at the bed, following Dee’s gaze. “This what he had on him?” he asked, nudging his chin to the collection of items scattered on a tray.

“Yes,” Crane sighed. “But it’s nothing of consequence, really. Just some alcohol, cash, and a cigar.”

Bigby sifted through the items disinterestedly. He picked up the cigar, rolling it casually between his fingers. Bigby glanced back to see Dee watching it closely. The sheriff brought it to his own lips and lit it up.

Dee glared at him. “I was _savin’_ that.”

Bigby took a long drag, considering the man opposite him. The cigar was obviously well-made and expensive, but today, it tasted like ash. The sheriff leaned forward after a moment and held the cigar out to Dee.

“This a trick?” the Tweedle hummed. “Gonna burn me? Poke out my eye? Drop it in me privates?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

The Tweedle gave him a dubious look. “Yeah…yeah, alright.”

Bigby extended it further when Dee leaned up. The latter man took a few long puffs, breathing the smoke out through his nose appreciatively.

“Don’t make ‘em like they used to,” Dee sighed. “One more.” His last drag was longer than the others.

“This is absurd,” Bluebeard snapped. “This isn’t going to work—fattening him up like a pig for slaughter.”

“Let me handle this,” Bigby said calmly, his attention on Dee.

“Let me take over for you, Sheriff. I’ll get us answers.”

“No.”

“You’re not suited for this.”

“Stop it, Bluebeard,” Crane hissed.

Bluebeard frowned at the sheriff. “Don’t you want to find out what happened to those girls? To Snow White?”

“I said I’m handling this,” Bigby growled through his teeth, his hands shaking at the wild flash of rage.

“Even _I_ know that was low,” Dee mused, glancing around at the other three with an entertained expression.

Bluebeard threw a hand up and returned to whisper angrily with Crane.

Bigby tuned them out again. “Where’s your brother, Dee?”

The Tweedle sighed. “Look, mate, I-I’d like to help, really. I would. I didn’t have nothin’ against Snow! She was a fine bird! Always nice to me. But I’m not gonna just hand over me brother, alright? I don’t even know where he is. Last I saw him, we split up, ‘n I went to find Faith’s—” Dee’s hesitation was brief but noticeable. “I don’t know where he is now. But he didn’t kill Miss White any more than I did. Just leave him outta this.”

“You went to find Faith’s what?”

“Her—apartment. I went to find her apartment. That’s no secret.”

Bigby started to reply, but Bluebeard cut him off. “No, there’s more to it than that. You said you were trying to find something! Tell us what, or I swear to—”

“After you went to Faith’s apartment,” Bigby said over top of the other man, “your brother came to find us in the alley, remember? And—Snow…said you two left together in a car, so stop lying to me, Dee. What did you want from Faith? What were you looking for?”

Dee shook his head. “Sorry, Bigby. I can’t help you. I’m not saying anything else about it.”

“This imbecile will have the sheriff going around in circles,” Bluebeard grumbled.

“He’s _getting_ somewhere,” Crane retorted. “ _Real_ police work takes time.”

“So does a lobotomy,” Bluebeard snarled.

Crane scoffed. “I don’t even know what that means. And _don’t_ explain it to me. Just settle down, or I’ll send you out of the room.”

“Oh, you’ll _send_ me out of the—”

“When’s the anniversary, lovebirds?” Dee wondered, turning his head over. 

Bigby reached for the bottle of whiskey on the bed. “You just carry this around?”

“Comes in handy more often’n you’d think.”

Part of Bigby—a very small part—wanted to down the whole thing, but he knew it wouldn’t make him feel any less empty. He pried the cork off and offered it to Dee instead.

The Tweedle gave it a suspicious look. “Guess it…couldn’t hurt. Unless you poisoned it, that is…But you can’t hope to get me drunk, Bigby,” he added with a smirk. “I’ve a high tolerance, you know.”

Bigby tipped the bottle back a little, and Dee drank from it greedily until it was taken away. Bigby corked it again and tossed it back to the bed.

“What—”

“This is _ridiculous_!” Bluebeard snarled. “He’s never gonna talk if you keep treating him like a fucking prince!” He stormed over to Dee, but Bigby stood up between them. Bluebeard glared down at the sheriff. “What’s next, Bigby? You gonna give him a massage? Offer him a nice steak dinner?!”

“ _Bluebeard_!” Crane shrieked.

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” Bigby replied calmly. “Back off, Bluebeard. This is my case.”

“Get your answers,” Bluebeard growled through his teeth, “or I’m taking over.”

Bigby watched the man return to the corner of the room, and then he sat back down in his chair. “What did you want from Faith?” he asked Dee. “Sweet girl like her—”

“ _Sweet_?” Dee scoffed. “You think that girl was _sweet_?! What, she bat her eyelashes at you? She was a bitch! Forgive the word, Sheriff, but she was. She was spiteful, vindictive, and she was a fuckin’ _thief_! Fuckin’ sweet. She might’a been, back in the day, but she turned into a fuckin’ piece’a work. Fuckin’ _sweet_ ,” Dee scoffed again. “Faith was plenty’a things, but that sure as hell wasn’t one’a them. She was resentful, ungrateful, crude. She was—I mean—you _know_ what she did for a living, right?”

Bigby chose not to reply to that. His patience was on a precipice, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to send him over it. “What did she steal from you?” he asked calmly.

“Nothin’ from me. She took somethin’ from my boss, ‘n that—”

“Your _boss_?” Bluebeard repeated with a growl.

Bigby could have killed the man for interrupting, because whatever Dee was about to say, he changed his mind. Bigby’s hands tightened into fists, and it was an effort to loosen them again. “Let’s talk about your boss, then,” the sheriff suggested, his voice shaking a little. “You never answered my first question. Who do you work for?”

“You’re gonna get me into trouble, Bigby,” Dee teased. “I can’t answer any more questions.”

Bigby pressed a hand to his face, covering his eyes briefly. Crane turned to snap at Bluebeard under his breath. The sheriff’s knee began to bounce a little as he tried to remain in control.

“When was the last time you slept?” Dee wondered. “You look like shit, man. No offence, but…”

Bigby ignored him, glancing over at the bed again. He saw a large roll of cash and picked it up. He thumbed through it to see that the bills were all fifties or hundreds. “You always carry this much cash?” he said, his voice too tight to just be curious.

“Got a lotta laundry to do this week. What’s it to you?”

Bigby realized how closely Dee was watching the money. He tossed a few options back and forth before he finally let the money fall back to the bed. Dee visibly relaxed.

Bigby leaned his arms on the chair again. “Tell me who you work for, Dee.”

“Look,” the Tweedle sighed. “I know _you’re_ not a bad guy. I believe Beauty on that, but I can’t just give out that information. You never know who’s listenin’ in.”

“Beauty?” Bigby repeated, his tone revealing his surprise. “ _Beauty_ is an associate of yours?”

Dee scoffed, offended. “Why you gotta say it like that? What’s wrong with me? You tryin’ to tell me I ain’t pretty enough to hang around Miss High ‘n Mighty? Yeah, we’re _real_ close.”

Bluebeard chose that moment to storm over again. “I thought this was supposed to be a murder investigation, but you’re treating him like a…a fucking houseguest!”

“Bluebeard!” Crane shouted.

“You’re not getting any answers from him this way! Snow White is _dead_! One of us! I thought you would’ve cared enough about her to do what’s necessary to—”

Bigby glared up at him. “Say her name one more _fucking_ time, and I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Bluebeard challenged. “Get my coffee? Fix my tie? You used to have a spine! But now? You spent too much time with that girl, and she made you soft! You’re going to let this ignorant shit walk out of here in one piece?!” He grabbed Bigby’s collar, pulled him from his chair, and threw him across the room. “Get the fuck outta my way! I’ll show you how it’s done!”

Bigby caught himself with both hands on the wall. He lowered his head, clenching his jaw. He struggled for control, but he felt it all bubbling up. Felt _something_ bubbling—he didn’t even know what anymore.

Behind him, he heard Dee grunt from a hard punch. “Fu—what the _fuck_?!” he shrieked breathlessly.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” Crane demanded.

“Teaching him a lesson about wasting our time! Now, pay attention!” Bluebeard pulled his fist back, punching Dee again as hard as he could. The Tweedle’s nose cracked, and he coughed.

“Stop that this _instant_!”

“You…enjoyin’ yourself?” Dee panted.

“Immensely,” Bluebeard snarled.

He pulled his first back to hit Dee again, but Bigby caught his arm. He threw Bluebeard back with an alarming display of strength and planted himself firmly between the prisoner and Bluebeard. “You need to leave,” he growled darkly through his teeth. “ _Now_.”

Bluebeard reared back to hit Bigby. The sheriff dodged it easily and shoved the other man back powerfully. Crane yelled at them both shrilly, going red in the face. Bluebeard grabbed Bigby’s arm and threw him against the wall. Rage broke over Bigby like a tidal wave. He evaded the other man’s swing, throwing his own punch. It felt so satisfying that Bigby did it again and again. Bluebeard took advantage of the sheriff’s blind rage. He grabbed his neck and pinned him against the wall again. 

“Bluebeard! Cut this out this _instant_!” Crane hollered.

Bluebeard’s hands closed around Bigby’s throat. He lifted the sheriff off his feet and tightened his grip. Bigby tried to kick him off, but his aim was wide.

The sheriff had managed to grab the other man’s wrist to free himself when the cell door burst open with a crash.

Crane looked over and fell back a step with a yelp.

Bigby’s gaze flickered to the door, and then he did a doubletake. Rage fled him in an instant, replaced with utter shock. His heart stopped and then picked up twice as fast as he froze.

_Not possible._

_It’s not possible._

_How—_

Jasmine and vanilla swept through the room as she placed both hands on her hips, glaring with enough fury that Crane shrank back.

“Snow!” the deputy mayor gasped, falling into the chair.

“What in the _hell_ is going on in here?” she demanded in a rich, angry voice. She turned her glare from one shocked pair of eyes to another. “Release him _now_ , Bluebeard.”

Bluebeard, who had frozen too, freed Bigby at once. The sheriff was so shocked that he failed to catch himself and fell to the ground.

“Bigby,” Snow said quickly, reaching for his hand. He gave it to her numbly, his eyes wide as she helped him to his feet. “Are you alright?” She waited briefly for an answer, but he couldn’t find his voice. She glared at Bluebeard. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing? You don’t have the right to just—”

“Snow,” Bigby whispered emotionally enough to make her hesitate. He couldn’t think or breathe or process what he was seeing. Thoughtlessly, he reached for her, his hand cupping her cheek. His thumb arced over her skin as if to prove to himself that she was here—flesh and blood—not a dream, not a hallucination. “How…” 

Snow blushed, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel embarrassed when she saw the distraught shock written across the sheriff’s eyes.

“Bigby? What’s—wrong? What—”

The sheriff suddenly drew her to him, hugging her tightly. Her scent filled his lungs, and he squeezed his eyes shut, holding her close.

“B-Bigby?” Snow murmured. She didn’t fight him, though her cheeks were darkening even more at the unexpected display of affection. She reached up hesitantly, her fingers brushing against his shoulder. She was hyperaware of the Tweedle, Crane, and Bluebeard watching them, but to her surprise, no one said anything. Each of them watched her with their own wide eyes. She felt Bigby’s heart hammering in his chest and how fast he was breathing, and her confusion only grew until the word was an extreme understatement.

“Snow,” Bigby breathed again, her name like a prayer on his tongue. “How are you—what…where have you…” He couldn’t think. His heart pounding painfully in his chest, and he grew sick with the fear that he’d wake up in the interrogation room all over again. But she was soft and warm and very much alive against him, her hand light upon his shoulder.

“What’s, uh…You guys look like you haven’t seen me in years,” she tried to joke, desperate to break the tension in the air. “What’s, uh, going on? Why’s…everyone staring at me like that? Bigby?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Dee finally spluttered through bloodied lips. “What the…fuckin’ hell…”

“You…Snow!” Crane gasped again as Bigby finally pulled away.

He found her ocean eyes, staring into them intently. His hand rose to her cheek on its own accord again.

Snow was startled by the sheriff’s haunted look. In fact, they all looked like they’d seen a ghost. She glanced from one pair of eyes to another. “Guess, uh…guess I’ll leave a note next time I leave the office.”


	9. Chapter 9

Bigby knew he was still staring at Snow, but he couldn’t manage to look away. They had spent an hour in the basement while Crane stammered a rough explanation of everything that had happened in the last twelve or so hours. Snow had listened, pale but angry, and then she’d relentlessly torn into all of them before she dismissed them and told Bigby to follow her.

She was leading him upstairs and into the lobby. She appeared to have simmered a little now that she was alone with the sheriff, but she was still angry.

“What the hell was going on down there, Bigby?” she wondered, the familiar melody making his chest clench a little. She glanced at him, ocean eyes concernedly finding his. “ _Abusing_ a prisoner like that…”

“I…Bluebeard was…” Bigby trailed off.

His speechlessness surprised her. He wasn’t often so unsure. “Bigby?”

“I…” The sheriff swallowed and cleared his throat. “I—thought you were…we…thought you were dead, Snow.”

“And _that_ makes it okay?” she demanded, her temper flaring again. They stopped at the elevator, and she hit the button too hard before she rested her fists on her hips. “I thought you were different, Bigby! I thought you weren’t letting that side of you control you anymore!”

“I’m…not,” he managed to say. He’d never been so happy to hear her yell at him.

“You can’t just _do_ that to people, Bigby! Especially not in an active murder investigation! If people think there’s even a _whiff_ of intimidation or coercion, that man’s testimony goes right out the window! You’re _sheriff_ now, Bigby! You have to be _better_.”

“I…” Bigby blinked. “I wasn’t doing anything,” he replied slowly, but there was no defiant heat to his tone, just quiet, lingering shock. “Bluebeard was the one who was…abusing him. I was trying to talk to him.”

“And did you try to _stop_ Bluebeard?”

“Yeah, that’s…why he was choking me.”

Snow looked at him and then sighed, pressing her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Okay, that’s…I’m…I’m sorry,” she said with difficulty. “I’m not angry with you; I just…” She shook her head. “Sorry.”

“How…how the hell are you…here?”

“After our conversation in the taxi last night, I got a call from Toad. He said his son had found a body. We thought it was…Faith, at the time. Getting her back here wasn’t easy, but hopefully we’ll find something on her that can help us track down her killer.”

The elevator dinged its arrival, and Snow walked in briskly.

“I should’ve been there, Snow,” Bigby whispered.

She caught the door when it tried to close on the sheriff. He entered the elevator slowly. “I called the Business Office, but there was no answer. I even tried the Trip Trap. I couldn’t find you—or anyone else—so, I took care of it.” She pressed the button for the right floor when Bigby didn't and folded her hands.

“Snow,” he breathed softly.

She usually liked the way he said her name, but this time, it was so emotionally charged that it made her sad to hear it. “What is it?” she murmured, looking at him anxiously.

Bigby searched her ocean eyes. “I’m…glad you’re, uh…not…dead.” He frowned and looked away.

Snow was surprised enough to give a quiet chuckle. “Well, that…makes two of us.”

Bigby’s fingers twitched. He had never hugged or touched her like he did in the basement, but he ached to do it again. He wanted to hold her to him, to feel her breathing, to feel her heart inside her chest, to know that this was real. She was okay, alive, _here_. Jasmine and vanilla swirled through his lungs, clouding his thoughts, and he moved his hand into his pocket when it threatened to reach out to her.

Snow felt the electricity in the air. She glanced at Bigby to see him staring unseeingly at the doors, shock still frozen in his eyes.

She wracked her brain for something to say, but _sorry you thought I was dead_ just wasn’t cutting it. She folded her hands in front of her instead and cleared her throat softly. “I just want to get to the bottom of this.”

Bigby nodded his agreement numbly.

Snow looked down. “I know it’s weird, but…I just feel like…” She sighed when the doors opened.

The sheriff followed her out, close by her side. “What is it?” he asked softly, his eyes on hers.

“I just…” She stopped in the hall outside the Business Office and turned to look up at him. “I feel…responsible, in a way. She looked _just_ like me. And…maybe that’s why she was killed.”

Bigby lifted a hand to the back of his neck, thinking as he frowned at the wall. “If someone wants you…dead…then, at some point, they’ll realize they missed their mark.”

“And they’ll come looking for me,” Snow finished. “We just have to find out who did this—and why that girl was glamoured to look like me. I mean, that’s what it is, right? It has to be.” She shook her head and crossed her arms. “So, what’s our next move?”

“Maybe you should lie low for a while,” Bigby replied. “Just…until we figure out what’s going on.”

“And what?” Snow demanded, glaring at him with a flash of anger. “Sit around the Business Office, twiddling my thumbs while I wait for the Big Bad Wolf to solve all my problems for me?”

Bigby flinched. “Wha—no, that’s—that's not what I meant, Snow. I just—”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” she exclaimed, an old rage sneaking into her tone. “I _told_ you, I’m tired of sitting around! I’m not going to be some errand girl for Crane anymore! And I’m not going to let anyone ‘save me’ _ever_ again! I can save _myself_! I’m not some pathetic—”

“I know that, Snow! I just want you to be careful!” Bigby argued, but there was no heat to his voice, only quiet desperation. “I almost lost you once, I can’t—”

“I’m not _yours_ to lose,” Snow bit back bitterly.

She regretted it as soon as she saw the expression on Bigby’s face. It flitted from embarrassed to hurt before he composed it. He looked away from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, lowering her tone. “I—”

“No,” Bigby replied. “No, you’re right.” He went to open the door to the office.

Snow caught his arm and pulled him back. “I know it’s dangerous, but I’m not helpless,” she said, choosing a calmer voice. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for centuries.”

She looked down and then back up at him, searching his eyes. There was a weakness in them that she’d never seen before, a brittle edge to him that threatened to crumble at any moment. She supposed she’d never had cause to see this part of him, and it made her chest tight to see it now. Her hand rose in the air slowly, hesitantly, until her fingers brushed against his jaw. He closed his eyes briefly at the touch before he looked at her again.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated quietly. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to say it the way it sounded. I just…I’m tired of people thinking they have to take care of me, that I can’t do it myself. I know you don’t think that,” she added swiftly when he tried to speak. “I know you don’t, and I’ve always appreciated that. And…I’m sorry about what you went through these last twelve hours. I…I couldn’t…” Snow broke eye contact, her cheeks flaming at the admission she almost made. Then she remembered the way he’d embraced her in the basement, and she decided to make it anyway. “I couldn’t imagine what I’d do if I thought something like that had happened to you.” She let her hand fall away, her eyes meeting his again.

Bigby’s heart was hammering in his chest, and he ached to reach out to her again.

“TJ’s waiting inside,” she continued, gesturing to the office. “He was so freaked out last night, he couldn’t tell us much. Even now, he just stops talking altogether after a certain point. He’s pretty shaken up, so…” She peeked up at him. “Try not to be too…”

“Myself,” Bigby finished.

Snow gave him a somewhat admonishing look. “Be like…like how you are with me. That’s all I mean.”

With that, she swung the door open and disappeared into the office. Bigby stared at the place where she’d been standing. His heart thudded in his ears. He felt confused and embarrassed but above all, relieved. He pressed a hand to the wall, steadying himself as he breathed out slowly.

Bigby waited a few seconds, and then he followed Snow into the office, doing his best to return to whatever version of himself counted as normal around her.

TJ and Toad were standing near Snow’s desk. TJ was drying his eyes with his sleeve while Toad patted his back and spoke softly to him.

Snow was waiting for Bigby. “We’ll talk to TJ so we can send him home, and then I’ll take you down to see the body, alright?” When the sheriff nodded, she led him to the others. “Toad,” she called softly. “Are you ready for us?”

Toad rubbed his son’s shoulder and looked up. Snow knelt beside TJ, and Bigby stopped beside her, standing uncomfortably.

“Hi, TJ,” Snow murmured, her voice warm and friendly. The boy peeked up at her. “It’s alright,” she encouraged with a smile. “Are you ready to talk to Mr. Wolf?”

TJ glanced at the sheriff with an anxious nod.

Bigby tried a friendly smile, but he must have done it wrong, because the kid shrank back. Bigby sighed and crossed his arms. Snow gave him a pointed look, and the sheriff grimaced. He got down on his knees beside her. TJ was still significantly smaller than him, but it was a better comparison.

“It’s okay, TJ,” Snow assured the boy again.

The kid seemed beyond terrified. The sheriff wasn’t sure if it was the circumstances or the Big Bad Wolf that had him trembling now. He rested a hand on his knee, trying to find a softer tone when he spoke. “Are you…okay?”

TJ looked down sheepishly.

“Go ahead, TJ,” Snow smiled. “Remember what I told you about Bigby?” She rested her hand on the sheriff’s shoulder, nodding encouragingly at the boy.

TJ peeked up again. “You…said he was nice and…and made you laugh sometimes.”

“That’s right,” Snow murmured. She let her fingers linger a few seconds before she took them away. Bigby glanced sideways at her, but he tried not to dwell on the notion. Of course she would’ve said that; what else would she have said to a terrified kid? Warn him that the sheriff was mean and standoffish? “And remember what else?” Snow pressed softly. “What did I say you two have in common?”

TJ chewed on his lip.

“He likes fireflies, remember? Just like you.”

The small toad’s eyes grew a little curious when he glanced up at Bigby again.

The sheriff turned to Snow uncertainly before he looked back. “Uh—yep,” he mumbled. “Yep. Fireflies are…my favorite alright.”

Snow laughed once quietly and smiled at him. He watched it a second too long, reluctant to return to the kid.

Judging from Toad’s eyeroll, the look wasn’t too subtle. Bigby frowned and crossed his arms loosely.

“Go ahead, TJ,” Snow murmured again. 

The boy stared at his feet. “I go swimming at night sometimes in the river,” he admitted anxiously. His eyes suddenly flitted up to Bigby’s. “I wasn’t doing anything bad! I promise!”

“’ _Course_ you weren’t, son,” Toad assured him quickly.

“We know you’re a good kid, TJ,” Snow nodded.

“You’re not in any trouble,” Bigby added, trying an even softer tone. It felt odd. “Just…tell me what happened. It’s okay.”

TJ released a quiet, nervous squeak. “I-I was there…under the big blocks. And I heard noisy feet. And when I hear that, I’m supposed to go underwater and stay real still and quiet.”

“That’s right, son,” Toad nodded proudly, patting the boy’s head gently.

“Then I saw…I…” Fat tears brimmed his eyes and fell down his cheeks slowly. Bigby grew even more uncomfortable. He glanced at Snow, but her eyes were on TJ. “I saw the lady,” the boy wailed, shrinking back into his father.

“It’s okay, son.”

“It’s alright,” Bigby said at the same time. He reached for TJ to offer some semblance of encouragement, unsure what else to do.

The boy jumped back with a yelp, and Bigby yanked his hand away as if slapped. Snow looked over at him concernedly.

“Careful, Bigby,” Toad warned with a glare.

The sheriff sighed. “I wasn’t—”

“I know,” Snow murmured, touching his arm briefly.

Bigby looked away.

“The…the lady fell in,” TJ continued, sobbing louder, “b-but she didn’t have her head on! I thought…I-I thought she was gonna pull me down, too! ‘Cause she had rocks on her feet! And she kept falling down in the dark parts!”

“Cinder blocks tied to her ankles,” Snow explained softly. “Is there more, TJ?”

The boy sniffed and wiped his cheeks. He peered up at Bigby. “I-is it true…that you can tell when people are lying? I-I heard you do that. That’s why y-you’re the sheriff.”

“Yeah,” Bigby answered, trying another smile that felt weird. “Part of my job is being able to tell when people are lying. I’m really good at it,” he added in a somewhat confidential tone. TJ’s eyes grew wider, and the sheriff realized why he was asking when he heard his heartbeat pick up. “Is there…something else you wanted to say?”

TJ swallowed audibly and looked at his father. “Please don’t be mad,” he begged.

“What is it, TJ?” Snow pressed gently.

“I…I-I…I didn’t stay under the water…”

“What?” Toad demanded in a quiet, scary tone.

TJ shrank back. “I know I’m supposed to!” he cried. “But I was scared! And I went to the top again! Please don’t take me away! I couldn’t help it!”

“I gave you _very_ specific rules!” Toad exclaimed. “If you wanna go outside, you ‘ave to stay quiet ‘n outta sight or bad things can ‘appen! I’ve _told_ you!”

“Leave him alone, Toad,” Bigby muttered, wary of pushing the boy too far.

“Oi, ‘e’s _my_ son, Bigby, ‘n I’ll punish ‘im as I see fit. I’ve set these boundaries for a reason.” Toad jabbed an angry finger at him. “It’s your bloody threats that keep us indoors all the live long day!”

“This is a special circumstance,” the sheriff replied slowly, struggling to keep his voice emotionless. “He has information that can help us catch the murd—the guy who’s doing this.”

“My boy gets caught outta glamour just _once_ , it’s you who’ll come ‘n snatch him away from me!”

TJ started wailing shrilly, high-pitched, piercing cries that shook through the room. Bigby raised a hand to his eyes. He was tired, so fucking tired.

“Toad,” Snow snapped when she saw the sheriff's expression. “When Bigby acts, it’s on my orders. You want to blame someone, blame me, alright? But right now, your son has valuable information. Please stop trying to scare him. You can reprimand him when you get home. He’s not in any trouble with us. No one’s getting sent anywhere.”

“Not today maybe!” Toad barked over his son's shrieking cries. “But your sheriff ‘ere’s made it more’n clear that if me or me boy get caught outta glamours, the Big Bad Wo—”

“That is _enough_ , Toad,” Snow said, her tone dipping dangerously. “He acts on _my_ orders. And we can discuss that later, if you want. But right now, we need whatever information your son can offer. TJ, honey, are you listening? No one’s taking you away. Calm down, sweetie. It’s alright.”

Bigby wanted to leave, but he lowered his hand and looked blankly at Toad instead. Snow glanced at him worriedly, alarmed by how severely drained he appeared.

“We need your son’s statement,” the sheriff said in a flat voice. “Let us talk to him.”

Toad glowered at Bigby and crossed his arms. “Go on then, _Sheriff_.”

Snow looked at TJ. “It's alright, honey. So…you didn’t stay underwater,” she prompted gently.

“I don’t know i-if anyone s-saw me,” the boy whimpered, “but s-someone said, ‘stop laughing.’ And then I was scared, and I went under for as long as I could!”

“Wait, you heard someone?”

“Y-yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Toad asked.

“I didn’t wanna be in trouble!”

Bigby stared at the kid. “Did you hear someone laughing?”

“N-no.”

“Were those the words they used? ‘Stop laughing’? Try to remember exactly.”

“Th-they s-said—” TJ hiccuped. “Th-they said, ‘stop laughing at me.’”

“Sheriff,” Toad warned.

“Did you recognize the voice?” Bigby pressed.

“No,” TJ cried.

“Was it a man or a woman? Could you hear?”

“A-a man, I-I think.”

“Did they—”

“Bigby,” Snow said softly, moving her fingers to his arm again. “He’s frightened.”

Bigby glanced at her and looked at the kid. “Okay, TJ,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry!” the boy cried, wiping his face. “After I came up again, there was no one there, a-and I ran straight home! That’s all! I _promise_!” He choked and sobbed, shaking violently against his father. “I just wanna go home.”

“Okay,” Bigby murmured. “You can go home, TJ.”

The boy sniffed and wiped his eyes.

Bigby realized Snow was watching him. He glanced at her, and she offered a small but warm smile before she returned to the boy. “Thank you, TJ,” she said softly.

“Okay, son,” Toad sighed. “Let’s get you ‘ome.”

“You did a good job, kid,” Bigby added quietly.

TJ peeked at him and sniffled again. “R-really?”

“Sure. You helped a lot.”

The boy smiled and played with his webbed fingers. Bigby tried to smile back, and the boy relaxed a little, his shoulders lowering.

“Come on,” Toad said, patting the boy’s shoulder.

Bigby stood and rubbed the back of his neck. Snow rose beside him, glancing at the leaving family before she turned to the sheriff. “Well, that went about as well as I expected,” she mused.

Bigby sighed and adjusted his tie a little.

“Thank you,” she added. “For being so good with him.”

“Told you I could be nice,” he replied, his tone making the joke fall flat.

Snow smiled at him anyway, and he enjoyed the sight more than he should have. She sobered up after a moment and crossed her arms. “You…want to go look at the body now?”

Bigby’s expression darkened. It took him a moment to answer. Last night flashed through his mind again, but he tried to think beyond it, back to the bar. “Got a few questions for the mirror first…if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she replied, seeming relieved with the delay. She gave a somewhat teasing smile. “Think I’ll join you this time. See your poetic prowess in action.”

Bigby gave a snort and walked with her to the dormant glass. “Hey, mirror.”

It flickered to life with an exhausted sigh. “Is it _really_ so hard for you, Bigby?”

“Yeah. Show me Lily. Holly’s sister.”

The mirror just stared at him.

“What?”

Snow chuckled and crossed her arms. “He’s not going to do it if you don’t ask right.”

Bigby sighed heavily. “Fine. Mirror, mirror, show me Lily. And yeah, I think this rhyming thing is silly.”

“Good one,” Snow murmured with feigned seriousness.

The mirror still didn’t move.

“ _What_?” Bigby demanded.

“Some things cannot be revealed,” the mirror said ominously. “Once again, these lips are sealed.”

Snow sobered up. “Wait, what? What do you mean? You can’t locate her?”

“As I explained to the sheriff, a magic more powerful than mine hides her location from thine.”

Snow frowned. “That’s…I didn’t know that was possible.”

“All I can say is, these lips are sealed.”

Bigby shook his head. “That’s the third time I’ve heard that phrase,” he muttered unhappily. “Fine, show me Holly.”

“Honestly, Bigby,” the mirror complained.

“Fucking—” Bigby gave another long sigh. “Mirror, Mirror, show me Holly the Troll, or…I’ll…throw you down the Witching hole.”

Snow grinned at Bigby’s profile. “And you wonder why it doesn’t like you.”

The sheriff huffed something like a snort. The mirror flickered to life, revealing the interior of the Trip Trap. Holly leaned against the bar, talking to Gren. His back was to the image as he hunched over his drink, but he seemed okay, at least.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, show me—for fuck’s sake.” Bigby rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Uh. Mirror, Mirror, uh…if you…please…show me that fucking dimwit Dee.”

“That one deserves a solid ten out of ten,” Snow nodded, feigning seriousness again.

“Shut up,” the sheriff smiled wryly.

The glass changed to show an open refrigerator door. Bigby frowned until the door closed and Dee emerged with a long sandwich in his mouth.

“What the fuck?” the sheriff growled. “How did he— _Crane_.”

“Sorry,” Snow murmured with a grimace.

The mirror faded. “Anything else?”

“Show me Tweedle Dum.”

The silhouette turned to Snow in dry disbelief, and she snickered.

“Uh…that piece of…scum,” Bigby added.

Snow gave a contented sigh. “I’m so glad I didn’t miss this.”

The mirror flickered to life once more. The other Tweedle was behind the wheel of a car in traffic, bobbing his head to music.

“Well, that wasn’t an enormous waste of time,” the sheriff muttered unhappily.

“Definitely not for me,” Snow teased. “I think we should write up instruction manuals for the mirror using your methods. You have a very interesting approach.”

“You know what, Snow?”

“I’m listening.”

“Just…you…I—”

“I know just what you mean,” Snow nodded, patting his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he finally muttered again with a wry smile.

She grinned at him, but she grew solemn as they walked back into the office. “Are…are you ready now?”

Bigby looked down and gave a quiet, weary sigh. “Yeah.” He shook his head. “Show me the body.”


	10. Chapter 10

The chamber where they kept the Witching Well was freezing. Bigby wasn’t sure if it had more to do with how far underground they were or the magical nature of the Well itself.

Snow noticed the frigidity as well, shivering under her blazer as she led the way.

Bigby saw the Witching Well far on the other side of the room as they ventured deeper into the icy chamber. For how massive a threat it was to Fables, it always amazed Bigby how nondescript it appeared. There weren’t any runes or carvings, no skulls or ominous candles. It was bare and isolated, seemingly no more menacing than an average water well. It led to a chasm so deep, so dark that no one knew, really, where it went. Only one thing was clear: Whoever fell down the Well was lost forever.

Ahead, in the middle of the dark chamber, lanterns were lit around a stone table. Bufkin was waiting there beside a lifeless body that Bigby couldn’t yet bring himself to see. He watched the ground instead, doing his best not to think too much.

When they arrived, Snow stopped near the table. Bigby froze beside her, his eyes widening a little. When he saw the young woman on the slab, he almost felt inclined to glance at Snow to reassure himself that it wasn’t really her.

On the surface, they appeared identical in almost every single way. They were even wearing the same clothes. Snow hadn’t changed from her blue skirt, tan blazer, and snowflake blouse; the body had somehow been dressed in the exact same clothes, down to the small pearl earrings and blue, low-heeled shoes. The body’s waist, shoulder, chest, leg, and arm measurements all seemed exactly the same—to an unsettling degree, as if this woman was the perfect, identical twin of Snow. The only thing that distinguished one from the other at first glance was the decapitated head laying crookedly near the body’s neck.

The killing wounds looked identical to Faith’s—a quick, clean cut that sliced through skin, bone, tissue, and muscle without hesitation. A spiderweb of seared veins glowed under the skin of the woman’s neck, a clear sign of magical influence.

Snow crossed her arms uncomfortably, staring at the head. Bufkin stood over the body grimly.

“Wow,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “I…didn’t realize…I hadn’t seen her face before now. That’s…She…”

“Are you okay?” Bigby asked quietly. It was a stupid fucking question; _he_ wasn’t even okay. “You don’t have to stay. It’s okay if you’d rather—”

“No, I want to stay,” she interrupted quickly and firmly. “I’ll be fine. It’s just…strange. The glamour is so effective, it’s…invasive.” She frowned at the body’s curves—her _own_ curves—and swallowed quietly. She crossed her arms more tightly. “Just…do what you need to do, Bigby.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking at her. “I—”

“I trust you,” Snow murmured quietly. “It’s…” She sighed and straightened. “It’s okay. We need to do this.”

Bigby nodded once, glancing at her one last time before he stepped up to the stone slab. Bufkin watched from the other side with a morose expression.

The first thing that drew the sheriff’s attention was the most obvious discrepancy between the body and Snow—a small, copper brooch pinned to the jacket’s lapel. Bigby reached over to unpin it delicately. He pulled it closer with a frown.

“That’s weird,” Snow murmured. She looked over his shoulder without coming closer. Bigby handed it back to her so she could see better. “I…don’t own anything like this,” she mused, tracing the intricately curving lines. “It looks…old. Like, from the Homelands old.”

“Maybe it really belonged to her. Not part of the glamour.”

“Bufkin, do you recognize these symbols?”

The flying monkey accepted the brooch. He admired it closely and then shook his head. “Not off the top of my head, no.”

“Well, give it back then. We’ll check the books when we’re…finished.”

Bigby returned to the body. He leaned over her neck, surveying the wounds more carefully. “Looks just like Faith’s,” he said quietly to himself. “Did Dr. Swineheart ever get back to you about her?”

Snow made a face. “Not yet. He said he wanted to…run more tests.”

Bigby nodded. A familiar scent hit him again, but this time it was faint, watered-down from her time spent in the river. “She got your perfume right,” he mumbled without thinking.

“How would she…” Snow looked up at him. “How would _you_ know what perfume I wear?”

“You can’t fool this nose,” he replied simply. “Also, I’ve…seen the bottle on your desk.” 

Snow considered that, filing it away for later. “If the neck wound is the same, is…is there a ribbon in her mouth, too?”

Bigby reached for the head and hesitated. Snow nodded for him to continue. He lifted a thumb to the woman’s chin. It was a little difficult to open the body’s stiff jaw, but he did it as carefully as possible. He couldn’t open it very far, just barely enough to peer inside.

“Anything?” Snow asked hopefully.

“No. So…not _exactly_ the same as Faith.” Bigby stood, resting his hands on the slab thoughtfully. Why would they put the ribbon in one girl’s mouth but not the other? They were careful enough to leave the head in the same place, so why change that little detail? If they—

“Could you…close her mouth?” Snow asked softly.

“Sorry,” Bigby replied. 

“Thanks…wait, do you see that?” Snow suddenly asked, pointing from afar.

Bigby followed her gesture to the body's neck. He frowned and leaned in closer. The skin was accurately pale, unblemished but for a few freckles—everything but a small black and blue bruise just above the collarbone. “Oval-shaped,” he mumbled aloud. “Almost like a thumb.” He checked the other side of her neck for finger-length bruises, but there were none. “Do you have a bruise there?” he wondered distractedly.

“I don’t…think so?” Snow answered. She hesitated briefly and then pulled her hair to one side, moving her collar enough for Bigby to look. He glanced at her eyes before stepping a little closer. He checked briefly in the same place and then returned to the slab.

“Just on her then.”

“Is she bruised anywhere else?”

“Not that I can see.”

Snow chewed the inside of her cheek. Bigby walked around the table slowly, and Snow fidgeted. She knew he was being deliberately respectful, but it still felt uncomfortable for him to be studying her under such close scrutiny.

His careful survey paid off, though. His eyes caught on a small mark on the inside of the body’s thigh, just above the knee. He reached forward, sliding the hem of the skirt up a centimeter to see the mark more clearly, and then he frowned.

“What is it?” Snow asked a little hoarsely.

“Track marks,” he answered, his voice surprised. “Hidden on the inside of her leg.”

Snow was equally shocked. “She used mundy drugs?” 

“Looks that way. Pretty heavily, too. I hear they only go for the legs if they’ve used up the veins in their arms. Or,” he allowed, “if they’re trying to hide the marks. Either way, it means it’s not a perfect match to your, uh, leg. Unless…”

Snow rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Maybe she was trying to compensate for that, then, with the perfume.”

“Maybe…But if the glamour was supposed to make her look like me, shouldn’t it be concealing things like track marks and bruises? Why would it change everything else? I’ve never seen one this sloppy.”

“Maybe it’s a cheap glamour.”

Snow frowned. “The witches upstairs know what they’re doing. That’s why it costs so much. Unless…unless you mean someone is making glamours illegally?”

“It’s not technically illegal, miss,” Bufkin chimed in. “It’s not encouraged, for sure, but there actually aren’t any laws specifically forbidding it, either.”

Bigby sighed. “Great, so now there’s some kind of black market for glamours?”

“One would assume,” Bufkin shrugged. “I imagine anyone with access to the proper books and training could, theoretically, produce a glamour.”

Snow shook her head. “Yet another thing to worry about. Black market or not, it’s…a pretty good match.” She frowned and placed a hand to her jacket. “Except…look at that,” she said, nudging her chin towards the body’s torso. “The buttons aren’t exact on the jacket. There’s an extra one.”

“You’re right,” Bigby realized. “The buttons aren’t right. I wonder if…” He stopped and looked up at Snow.

“What?” she asked hesitantly.

The sheriff didn’t see a way around it. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Snow, do you mind if I, uh…” He gestured to the body. “…open her coat?”

Snow froze and then slowly nodded.

He heard her heart hammering and shook his head. “Never mind. We know enough to—”

“No,” Snow said quickly. “No, it’s—this is necessary. It’s okay. I trust you. Go ahead.”

Bigby hesitated and then reached for the body. He leaned forward a little, undoing the first button almost painfully slowly.

It took a moment for Snow to realize it was because he was being careful not to brush against the body’s breasts. “Bigby,” she called softly. He lifted his hands away immediately and looked up at her. She felt a surge of safety at that, an overwhelming gratitude for the way he was choosing to handle this. “Just…here, let me do it for you.”

He nodded gratefully. She came to stand beside him. Her fingers twitched in midair briefly before she swiftly undid the jacket and splayed it away from the body’s sides. She reached for the blouse next, starting at the bottom and working her way up. The stopped just below the bra line, realizing that if she continued, she’d more or less be revealing herself to Bigby.

“That’s enough,” the sheriff said when he realized it, too.

She wanted to thank him, but that seemed like it would make this even more awkward for both of them. Instead, she nodded and let the shirt fall open, revealing the body’s stomach. A faintly sick look crossed her features, and she crossed her arms.

Bigby was watching her worriedly. “It’s not you, Snow,” he murmured. “It’s…just a body.”

She looked over at him, searching his eyes. The sheriff weakened a little when he saw the embarrassment, the fear, freckled in her ocean eyes. She swallowed and breathed out unsteadily, her heart hammering wildly. She parted her lips to speak, but she was quickly cut off.

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected,” Crane called, coming over to them. He looked past them at the body on the slab. His beady eyes widened as he turned red, and he adjusted his spectacles. “What, uh…what have you found out?”

“There are a few discrepancies between Snow and the body,” Bigby answered. “We think this woman—whoever she was—was using a cheap, possibly black-market glamour. She was also taking mundy drugs.” Snow turned around and walked a few steps to Bigby’s other side away from Crane. She folded her arms more tightly, and Bigby glanced at her as he continued. “Pretty heavily, too, judging from the track marks we found on her leg.”

“ _Track_ marks?” Crane repeated, paling. “Is…Isn’t there…I mean, there are… _diseases_ …”

“What does that matter?” Bigby frowned.

“I don’t think she has to worry about that now,” Snow added, her voice bitter.

“N-no, no, of course not…” Crane adjusted his glassed again with a shaky hand.

Bigby frowned at him again. He and Snow exchanged a look, and Bigby hated the flicker he saw in her eyes—a raw vulnerability that made her look terrified.

“Crane,” he said, turning on the man. He casually put himself between him and the body. “We’re gonna finish up here.”

“Yes, of course. Go on, then.”

“Snow and I.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Alone.”

“What?”

“Wait upstairs.”

“Why on _earth_ would I—”

“It’s fine, Bigby,” Snow sighed, her arms tightening. Her heart was still racing in her chest. “It’s…fine. Thank you. We…need to keep going. We don’t have to drag this out.”

Bigby looked at her softly. “You sure, Snow?”

“Of course she’s sure,” Crane answered, marching closer to the body. “We need to figure out what we can from her and move on. Time is of the essence!”

The sheriff’s jaw clenched. “I was talking to _Snow_.”

“It’s alright, Bigby,” she murmured. “Just keep going.”

Bigby sighed and turned back to the woman on the slab. He leaned over her body again. A flash of purple caught his eye. A lacy, purple band was wound across the body’s skin. It arced over the hip, disappearing below the skirt. Obviously lingerie. Bigby heard Snow's heart lurch, and his eyes flickered up in time to see her cheeks flush a dark red when she saw it, too.

Crane swallowed audibly. “And is this another…discrepancy, Miss White?”

Snow darkened even more and dropped her eyes.

Bigby glared at the deputy mayor. “What the _fuck_ , Crane?”

Crane spluttered, reddening himself. “It’s—I’m just checking to see if—”

“Just shut up. If you want to watch, fine, but do it silently.”

Crane glowered at him but didn’t reply.

“Her fist is clenched,” the sheriff said, pointing to it.

“So, she fought back?” Snow replied, her tone relieved with the change in subject. She gave Bigby a grateful look that made him feel even shittier.

“No marks on the knuckles,” he replied quietly, shaking his head once.

“Oh…”

“Maybe she grabbed something?” Bufkin suggested. “Hair from her killer or…something?”

“Maybe,” Snow nodded. “Good thinking, Bufkin. Check her hand, Bigby…please.”

The sheriff reached for it. He tried to open the fingers delicately, but they were too stiff.

“What’s wrong?” Snow wondered when he stopped.

“They’re stuck. I’ll…have to pry them open.”

Snow paled. “Oh…o-okay. She…might have something…D-do it.”

Bigby picked the hand up gently. He ignored how cold and unsettling the skin felt. He worked his fingers under the body’s, gaining as much leverage as he could. Gripping them firmly, he pulled back, grimacing at the strain. The chamber was quiet for a moment, and then the loud, cracking sound of breaking bones filled the room. Her fingers fell open limply, and he laid the hand back down gently.

“My God,” Crane complained in a nauseated voice.

Snow tightened her arms, a little green herself. “What…is that?” she wondered, seeing another flash of purple in the palm.

Bigby frowned. “Petals,” he answered, picking a few up.

“Flowers?” Snow repeated, stepping closer.

“Yeah…Lilacs, I think. They’re fresh.” He set the flowers on the table thoughtfully. He reached into the jacket pockets, searching them quickly. The ones on his side were empty, so he reached to the other. His fingers brushed against something solid, and he pulled out a wide, purple bottle with a handwritten note taped to it carefully.

“What is it?” Crane demanded in a thin voice.

Bigby glanced at Snow. “It’s…your perfume. She had it with her. Someone…picked it out. Note says, ‘use this.’”

Snow grew even paler, and her lips parted. “S-some…someone gave her…instructions?”

Bigby set the bottle down. He felt heavy with the weight in Snow’s voice and the implication that was beginning to form in both their minds.

“What’s that?” Bufkin wondered quietly, pointing hesitantly at the body’s hip.

Bigby didn’t respond at first. He leaned over a little and moved the shirt a few centimeters to see. The skin below the string of lingerie was marked by a flowery, flowing tattoo. It was artfully done, that couldn’t be denied. Purple and blue lines intertwined with each other. They hugged the body’s waist, arcing low on her stomach before delving under her skirt.

“Just a tattoo,” Bigby muttered, moving the shirt back quickly enough—he’d hoped—to conceal its destination.

“A _tattoo_?” Crane gaped. “ _There_? Heading towards her—her— _Snow_?” he gasped in surprise. “Do you have a—”

“ _Crane_ ,” Bigby barked.

“I’m just trying to determine to what extent the—”

“No, you’re—you’re being a goddamn asshole.”

“Excuse me?! How dare you—”

“I’ve had a very long day,” Bigby said slowly through his teeth. He turned on the man, who shrank back. “I’m tired, and I’m angry. Now is _not_ a good time for you to test my patience. Shut the fuck up or get the fuck out.”

Crane reddened angrily, but he didn’t respond. When Bigby returned to the body, he realized his hands were clenched. It took him a moment to calm down again. He breathed out slowly and reached over the body to the next pocket.

Snow stepped a little closer, glancing at the sheriff gratefully as she tightened her arms.

Bigby pulled out a long, thin wooden tube from the last pocket and frowned at it.

Snow cocked her head, holding her fingers out. Bigby handed it over at once. “I’ve seen things like this before,” she murmured. “It’s definitely magic, though witches don’t usually craft objects like this these days. Well, not the ones on the thirteenth floor, anyway.”

Crane’s eyes flashed wide when he saw what they were holding. “I—don’t think it’s wise to fool around with that! It’s some kind of—black market magic. It must be! Who knows what it could do? We should have it looked at by professionals—just to make sure it isn’t dangerous. Here, give it to me. I’ll take it to the—”

“No, we’ll find out right now,” Bigby interrupted, holding his hand out. Snow gave him the tube and refolded her arms.

Crane shook his head. “I really must insist. It’s—”

“Insist away,” the sheriff muttered.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“I’ll be careful.” He lifted the tube and shook it slowly. “Huh.”

“W-what?” 

“There’s something in here.” He rattled it quietly again.

“How do we open it?” Snow wondered.

“Not sure. I think we…” Bigby twisted something on the tube. He realized the whole thing was carved into small, thin dials that spun.

“Careful,” Snow murmured softly.

Bigby experimented with the rings. There were dozens of them, each as thin as a strand of hair. After some trial and error, an image began to slowly form.

“I really don’t think we would be doing this,” Crane said shrilly.

“Calm down,” Bigby muttered, concentrating.

Snow hummed . “It almost looks like an animal or...” 

“Witches—protect things!” Crane exclaimed. “We could—we could blow ourselves to smithereens, and for what? This is— _very_ reckless, Sheriff. Here, give it to me—we’ll have the witches upstairs look at it! They can determine if it’s safe, and then we—”

“Got it,” Bigby said as he spun the last ring into place. A lone white deer waited, its head standing proudly amidst a carefully carved forest. It must have taken days to finish; it was the work of an artist who took pride in their work.

The tube unlocked, and the cap popped off.

“Oh!” Snow gasped. “Good job!”

Bigby knocked the contents out onto the slab beside the body. His expression darkened when he saw short locks of raven black hair folded and tied with a thin blue bow. A piece of paper was rolled up tightly beside it, secured with a rubber band. The sheriff went for that first, pulling the band off and unfurling it to discover it wasn’t paper but a photograph.

Snow gasped again when she saw it, and Bigby’s frown deepened. It was a beautiful picture of Snow—that couldn’t be denied. Her smile was radiant, so wide that it crinkled her eyes and wrinkled her nose. Bigby hadn’t seen her smile that genuinely in a long time. Someone’s arm was thrown around her shoulder, and there was a flash of fiery red hair at the edge where the photo had been torn in half. Bigby knew exactly who it was without even needing to see her face; he’d only ever met one woman with hair that vibrant: Snow’s estranged sister, Rose.

Snow slowly took the photo from Bigby, staring at it in dismay. “Someone must have…taken this from my apartment,” she breathed. “I-I noticed it was missing, but I just thought I’d…” She shook her head, her eyes drifting to the red hair. “This was the _last_ picture I had of Rose and me,” she added in an emotional voice.

Bigby looked down. Despite her fury with her sister, and the hurt that she’d caused, Snow had often confided in Bigby how much she missed her sister—it was a complicated emotion that left her drained. She simultaneously missed her and never wanted to see her again. “I’m sorry, Snow,” he said softly, sincerity burning his tone. She gave him the photo back. He let it curl up again and set it on the table.

Snow’s eyes fell to the lock of black hair. “Let me guess,” she mumbled bitterly. “It’s mine.”

Bigby didn’t have to lift it to smell the hair’s sweet, natural tinge—a scent he’d recognize anywhere. “Yeah,” he muttered.

Snow closed her eyes. She turned around and walked a few feet away. When she stopped, her shoulders were tense, her arms crossed tight.

Bigby followed her, watching her worriedly.

“Who did this, Bigby?” she asked in a forlorn whisper.

He looked down. He was on the verge of replying when a green light exploded through the room. Bigby and Snow whipped around at the same time to see the body completely morphed. Crane fell backwards onto the ground, spluttering a shriek of shock and disgust.

“She’s a troll?!” Bufkin exclaimed, nearly falling off the table himself in surprise.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Crane rasped, scrambling to his feet again. He backed away from the body and folded his arms tightly.

“Holy shit,” Bigby mumbled.

A crease formed between Snow’s eyebrows. “Well, that helps explain the glamour…kind of. Who is she?” she wondered. She saw something on the troll’s leg and stepped closer. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

Bigby followed her gaze. “No, it wasn’t. Wait, is that a—” He sighed and looked away. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s a holly branch. Isn’t it,” he muttered, his voice too flat to convey it as a question.

“I…think so. Do you know her?” Snow looked down. “I don’t know many trolls, I’m afraid.”

“Should’ve left them all back in the Homelands,” Crane grumbled bitterly.

“Shut the fuck up, Crane,” Bigby snapped, looking at the troll’s severed head. The features had changed completely. Purplish skin had replaced Snow’s, and ocean eyes had become gold and green orbs.

“Who is she?” Snow wondered again.

“Holly’s sister, I think. Lily. Last night at the bar, Gren mentioned Lily’d been missing.”

Snow paled, and then her eyes widened. “You’re right,” she breathed, realization turning her stomach. “Lily…she…she was reported missing. I talked with Gren and Holly, but I…I guess it just slipped through the cracks…”

Bigby shook his head. He picked up the glamour tube slowly and returned its contents. “We have to go tell Holly.”

“Right,” Snow nodded. “Who knows? She might…know something about this or…or maybe know who Lily was seeing or—”

“Well, certainly another _troll_ ,” Crane scoffed.

Bigby and Snow glanced at him with frowns, and he looked away uncomfortably.

Snow turned to Bigby as he pocketed the glamour tube. “We should go.”

“Wha—absolutely not!” Crane exclaimed, rushing to block their path. “Snow, you can’t go out there!”

“And why not?” she demanded.

“It’s too dangerous! Someone tried to kill you!” When Snow didn’t waver, Crane turned to the sheriff. “Bigby! Remember how you felt when you thought she’d—you can’t seriously think of letting her go out there with you! You’d—”

“ _Letting_ her?” Bigby repeated. “Get the fuck outta the way, Crane.”

“No! You’d be putting her life at risk, opening her up to whomever wants to do her harm, and for what?! So you can—”

“Like I’m really gonna tell her what to do,” the sheriff muttered.

Snow resisted the urge to smile, instead leveling a glare at the deputy mayor.

“I forbid it!”

“Fuck off, Crane,” Bigby replied casually, glancing at Snow. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

She led him through the chamber, setting a brisk, determined pace.

Crane watched them go with his arms crossed tight. He glared at the back of Bigby’s head, and then he slowly turned around to stare at the troll’s body bitterly. 


	11. Chapter 11

They hit a patch of roadwork on the way to the Trip Trap. It turned the otherwise short drive into a maddening crawl. Bigby and Snow might have gotten out and walked the distance to the bar had they not been so exhausted.

Instead, they had both managed to fall asleep.

Neither one had meant to, and it was so painfully bright and hot that it should have been impossible in the first place.

Bigby’s head was propped with one hand, his fingers fanned lazily over his eyes to block the sun. His other arm was thrown over his stomach with his hand dangling near his opposite hip. Snow was leaning against him, though neither of them realized it. Sometime during the drive, she’d managed to slide over to him. Her back was to his arm, her head balancing on his shoulder. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, and she was breathing evenly and deeply.

The sheriff woke up first, his head heavy. These infrequent, small naps were doing nothing to assuage his exhaustion. At first, he was disoriented. He expected to wake up in the small chair in his living room. Instead, he opened his eyes to the backseat of the cab. He went to move his arm when he felt the weight against him. His eyes flashed down to raven black hair, and he froze. Jasmine and vanilla filled his lungs, as it always did, and he could hear her heartbeat slow and even as she slept. He became careful with his own breathing, wary of jostling her awake. His eyes drifted up to his window, but he couldn’t focus on anything he saw.

Part of him—the part that ached for Snow’s laugh and smile and playfully disapproving looks—wanted to close his eyes and savor her weight on his shoulder.

The other, more rational part remembered all too clearly the Big Bad Wolf. He recalled the fear in people’s eyes—a look Snow had never given him, not even when they had first met, but it didn’t matter. He would never be good enough for someone like Snow White.

He wasn’t stupid or blind enough to presume she was perfect, as so many others tended to. Quite the contrary, he knew she was ornery and short-tempered. She lost her patience on the wrong people and could be rather cold to their needs. She was infuriatingly stubborn and maddeningly pigheaded about things. She often thought she was right, and she often refused to apologize or admit when she was wrong. But Bigby liked those things about her. He liked how difficult she was—how trying and demanding she could be—just as much as he liked her sarcasm, creativity, and empathy.

Bigby closed his eyes and spread his fingers over them again, but he had no illusions of sleeping.

It was several minutes before Snow woke. A loud, angry car horn startled her back to reality. Bigby tried to ignore the way it felt when she jerked upright away from him.

He heard her heart beating out of her chest, and she took in a breath to say something as she whipped around to face him. He must’ve looked convincingly asleep, though, because she let the breath go again and settled back into her seat.

Bigby waited until her heart slowed down, and then he frowned against his fingers and moved his head back to the headrest. He felt miserable. As traffic picked up a little, the sheriff began idly fantasizing about a hot meal, a bed, and more than half an hour of rest.

“I’ve been craving a cheeseburger all day,” Snow sighed beside him, as though she’d read his mind. 

Bigby glanced at her and snorted quietly in agreement.

“And cheese fries. And a beer.”

“You’re killing me,” Bigby muttered.

Snow laughed quietly. The sound was as melodic as always, and the sheriff looked down briefly. He rested his chin on his hand and stared outside. The cab was finally moving again. It wouldn’t be long before they arrived.

“We should go get one,” Snow decided.

Bigby glanced at her again.

“We’re useless if we’re cranky.”

The sheriff snorted at the adjective. “Cranky?”

“Yes,” she smiled, seeming pleased with his amusement. “ _Cranky_. We need some food. And some coffee! And chocolate. A little pick-me-up, and then we can—”

The cab pulled over to the curb and stopped. Snow’s expression fell a little when she saw the Trip Trap sign past Bigby.

The driver reached back to lower the divider. “Here we go, folks.”

Snow sighed quietly and passed a few bills folded together. “Thank you,” she murmured before opening her door. “C’mon, Bigby.”

She looked so disappointed that the sheriff wasn’t sure what to do to lift her spirits again. He followed her out onto the street, closing his door softly.

“Sorry, Snow,” he finally offered quietly.

She gave another sigh, but this one had a theatrical edge to it. “What’s a few more hours?” she mused. “But after we do this, we’re getting something to eat, and I don’t want to hear any guff about it from you.”

Bigby snorted again. “Yes, ma’am.”

Snow nodded once firmly, allowing a playful smile to pull at the corners of her mouth. “Good. Then…you lead.”

Bigby’s expression darkened a little when he remembered the previous night. He stopped just outside the bar’s entrance and glanced back at Snow. “Uh…sorry about this.”

Snow frowned curiously, but the sheriff didn’t offer any further explanation. He simply pushed the door open and walked inside. His expression darkened even more. Shit, it looked even worse than he’d remembered. Holly must’ve spent hours getting the blood up off the floor. The scent of bleach stung the sheriff’s nose as he took his first step in. It was so strong that he squinted and resisted the urge to reach for a cigarette. Despite her efforts, though, Bigby could still smell the coppery stench of blood.

Holly had cleared up all the debris, but the walls were rife with deep holes and cracked drywall. Part of the floor near the bar was dented in, the ceiling fan was broken in a corner, and the bar at the back was half-destroyed. Whatever was still intact of the bar’s remaining furniture was stacked in a far back corner.

It looked like a goddamn storm had blown through.

Snow’s eyes were wide as she took in the extent of the damage. She glanced at the sheriff in shock, but he avoided her gaze.

Holly, Gren, and Jack evidently hadn’t noticed their approach. They were talking quietly at the bar.

“…whole thing is complete bullshit and always has been,” Gren was muttering. “I mean, what’s his job, really?”

“To keep shit from reachin’ the Woodlands,” Holly answered from under the counter. Her dry, dispassionate tone made it sound like they’d had this conversation before. “Jack,” she added exasperatedly. “I don’t know where they are.”

“This is a bar!” Jack scoffed. “You’re supposed to have darts around.”

“And normally I do, but look around this goddamn place. Who the fuck know where they went to after—” Holly stopped when she stood and saw Bigby.

Jack didn’t notice. “C’mon, Holly,” he complained. “I need some _entertainment_. I’m dying here. Let me at least—” He glanced up to see the tension in her shoulders and followed her gaze to the newcomers. “Oh, this’ll do,” he grinned, leaning back against the counter casually.

Gren looked up at Holly and then looked over his shoulder. Bigby felt a rush of shame when he saw the other man, but he maintained eye contact. Gren's right eye had healed quickly in just a few hours. The jagged, bloody cuts had scarred over, leaving behind four long, pearly lines in the wake of Bigby’s claws. Gren’s expression darkened, but there was more than anger in his eyes. Bigby finally did look away when he recognized the other flicker of emotion.

Holly and Gren exchanged a look, and she immediately started pulling bottles and glasses off the counter.

“I’m not here to start anything,” the sheriff said quietly.

“Then why _are_ you here?” Gren demanded, leaning one arm against the counter.

“Holly,” Bigby said by way of answer. “You got a minute?”

The bartender crossed her arms. “Why?”

“Please, Holly. It’s…important.”

Holly paled a little, like she suddenly knew exactly what he was going to say. She glanced at Gren uncertainly, and he met her eyes with no small measure of worry.

“Miss White,” Jack hummed, pushing off the bar with a lavish bow. “I heard you had kind of a… _strange_ morning.”

“It’s…been kind of a strange morning for everyone, I think,” she replied in a tight voice.

Jack chuckled lightly in agreement. He sauntered over and threw an arm around Bigby’s shoulders familiarly. The sheriff tensed, giving him a cool but warning glare. Jack ignored it. “Every time I see this guy,” he laughed, patting Bigby’s chest roughly, “he seems to lose weight. It’s amazing, it really is. He loses the weight and yet somehow manages to keep all the muscle! How do you do it, pal?”

“Jack,” Bigby warned with a sigh.

“Wolfie, my dear, how are you?”

The sheriff didn’t answer. He walked out from under Jack’s arm and headed for the bar.

Jack scoffed and passed him to lean against the counter again. “I only ask, because, you know, we were just talkin’ about you! All of us. Here. At the bar.”

The warning glances Holly and Gren threw him made the sheriff feel even shittier.

“I just need to talk to Holly,” he said, looking at her. “Privately. Please.”

“Alright,” Jack shrugged. “But in a minute. I’m dying to hear about the body that came out of the East River this morning first. It was a Fable, right?”

Snow stared at Jack in shock, and the sheriff glared at him.

“Oh, everyone knows,” Jack mused. “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

“Tweedle Dee was just in here,” Gren added in explanation.

Jack nodded. “ _He_ said that it looked just like our Snow White here. Picture that!”

Bigby clenched his jaw. “Are you done, Jack?”

“Not quite. Tweedle Dee _also_ happened to mention that you arrested him for no earthly reason, ‘kept him locked in the cellar all fuckin’ night,’” he quoted with a surprisingly talented impression. “ _He_ said you tortured him, which…I dunno, seems like a breach of your legislative duties, Wolfie, dear.”

Bigby supposed that explained the extra flicker of fear in their eyes. Then they weren’t just upset about last night.

“Bigby, c’mon,” Jack grinned. “You can’t honestly be so dumb as to think—”

“Jack,” Holly snapped gruffly. “Find the off button. Now.”

Jack looked at her in mild disbelief. “What is it with you two? You ‘n Gren are all, ‘let’s get a posse together’ when there’s no one around, but as soon as the Big Bad Wolf walks in, your tails go between your legs! What is it, cat got your nerve? What happened?”

“What happened?” Holly repeated. “I’m _tired_ is what happened.”

“Tired of what?”

“Of _trouble_ , Jack. I’m sick 'n tired'a _trouble_. I don’t want anymore. So just stop revvin’ his motor or wait outside or fuck the hell off. I don’t care which.”

“Well, what the hell’s _that_ supposed to—”

“Jack,” Bigby growled.

“What?” Jack demanded, turning on him. “Bigby, look—two Fables are dead! And, shit, Gren’s sister—”

“ _Holly’s_ sister,” Gren corrected through his teeth.

“ _Holly’s_ sister has been missing for, what, a few weeks now? And we haven’t heard one word about it from anyone!”

Snow folded her hands, squeezing her fingers together.

“Actually,” Holly said hesitantly, crossing her arms. “Have there…been any updates on that?”

Bigby looked at her. “Can we talk somewhere more private?”

Holly paled again. “You…got somethin’ to say, you can say it right here.”

The sheriff held her eyes. Quick and professional. “It was your sister, Holly,” he said quietly. “The body we found in the river this morning.”

Silence filled the bar. Holly stared at him blankly for a long moment, and then she slowly turned around. Gren looked at her with wide eyes that soon fell to the counter.

Jack swallowed. “Boy…I, uh, sure walked into that one.”

Gren slammed his fist down loudly. “If you say one more _fucking_ thing, just _one_ more—”

“What did _I_ do?! I’m just—”

Bigby grabbed Jack’s collar and wrenched him back towards the door.

“Hey, easy!” Jack exclaimed. He stumbled back into the pool table. “Ow, fuck! What the hell, Wolf?”

The sheriff grabbed him again and tossed him to the exit. “Get the fuck out of here, Jack.”

The other man tried to argue, but Bigby opened the door, pushed him a third and final time, and then slammed it closed. He breathed out heavily and returned to Snow’s side. She was twisting her fingers anxiously, her eyes glued to Holly’s back. Guilt was tightening her features.

“God fuckin’ damn it,” Gren growled huskily, his voice breaking. He raised a hand to his eyes briefly and then whipped around to glare Snow down. “But of course, the dear princess Snow fuckin’ White is all safe and sound!”

Bigby stepped between them, taking the anger himself.

Gren slammed his fist down again, rattling bottles and glasses. “Where the fuck were you when we reported this _weeks_ ago, huh?!” he demanded. Holly turned slowly. She lifted a glass and a bottle to the bar, her expression blank. Gren grew angrier, his voice breaking once more. “Where are you when we _ever_ fuckin’ need you?!” He lurched off his chair to get in the sheriff’s face. Bigby met his gaze evenly. Gren shoved him back a step as Holly’s bottle and glass rattled against the wooden counter. “If you’d given just _one ounce_ of shit about her, about _any of us_ , she might’a been saved! She might’a been cared for! She might’a been—”

Glass shattered loudly, and Gren’s head whipped back to Holly. Her hands were fists on the counter. She was breathing heavily, her eyes closed tight. Beads of blood pooled under her fingers, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I’m sorry, Holly,” Bigby said quietly.

Gren glared at the sheriff again. He couldn’t deny the sincerity in the apology, but it was far too late. “Easy for you to say,” he snarled in a hoarse voice. “You got your fuckin’ precious Snow White back. You goddamn asshole—you never even _looked_ for her! You prob’ly hadn’t even heard her name before yesterday! If she hadn’t come outta that river looking like that fuckin’ _bitch_ , you never would’a even cared!”

Bigby looked at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel angry in the face of grief.

Holly moved out from behind the counter slowly. Gren’s eyes flashed to her again, concern competing with his fury. She found one of the few intact chairs in the room and fell into it. Snow watched her with a tortured expression. She waited for a moment and then slowly followed the bartender.

“Holly?”

“Get the fuck outta my bar,” she replied quietly. There was no heat to her words, no anger. Her tone was flat, and that made Gren look even more worried.

“I just wanted to—”

“It should’a been you,” Holly muttered, staring at the wall. “It should’a been you, and it wasn’t.”

Snow faltered. Bigby came to her side silently.

Holly looked like she regretted the words. She closed her eyes and let her head fall a little.

Snow stepped forward again, reaching into her blazer pocket. “We…recovered this from her personal effects,” she said quietly, holding the brooch out. “I thought you might like to have it.”

Holly looked up. She reached for it hesitantly, tears brimming her eyes. “I…I didn’t know she still had this…” Snow crouched before her carefully. Holly stared at the brooch for a long moment before she curled her fingers over it protectively. “The copper was from a dwarven mine. It’s very rare…and very old.”

“It’s quite lovely,” Snow offered softly.

Holly let out a long breath. “Gren,” she murmured.

He came forward at once. “Yeah?”

“Take off for a bit, would ya?”

“Are you sure?”

Holly glanced up at Snow and then nodded, her eyes falling to the brooch. Gren gave Bigby a warning glare, and then he turned and left.

The bartender got up and walked back to the counter. She found another glass and bottle and sat down heavily on a stool.

“I didn’t know that much about her life,” she admitted in a flat voice. “Honestly, we…didn’t talk often.” She took a long drink, barely wincing. “She was lost here, in the city. She just got…swept away by it.” Holly turned slowly, crossing her legs and arms to face the sheriff. “But if you got questions, I’ll…try to answer ‘em best I can.”

Bigby waited a minute before he began. “Do you have any idea why she was glamoured as Snow?”

Holly’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?” she gasped, her gaze flitting to Snow. “Oh God, I’m sorry. That was probably about…” Holly frowned at the floorboards. She tapped her fingers against her arm, as if deciding how much to say, and then she sighed. “She was hookin’.”

Snow’s eyes fell, and she paled a little. Bigby clenched his jaw at the implication. His hands tightened into fists, and he crossed his arms.

“She was doin’ it to pay down debt,” Holly continued flatly. “It ate me up to see her that way. Eventually, the only people she owed were at her work…you know, that shithole club the Puddin’ ‘n Pie. Georgie, with all his fuckin’ fees.” Bigby and Snow exchanged a look. “It’s a crock’a shit…those fees. It’s just how they kept her under their thumb.”

“Holly, i-it’s okay,” Snow said quickly. “If this is too much, we don’t have to talk about it.”

Holly shook her head. “It’s fine.”

“Georgie?” Bigby repeatedly. “He the owner?”

The bartender shrugged indifferently.

“Do you know where the club is?”

“No,” Holly muttered. “No fuckin’ clue.”

“We can find it,” Snow said, glancing at the sheriff briefly.

Bigby looked away and then at Holly. “Do…you know if she knew a girl named Faith? Did they work together?”

Holly frowned faintly. “I don’t know. I think I remember her mentionin’ someone by that name, but…we didn’t talk much. When we did, it sure as hell wasn’t about that place.”

The sheriff's gaze fell again. “Thanks, Holly. Is there…is there anything we can do to…?”

“Nah,” Holly sighed. “Nah, I’m better off dealin’ with things alone. I don’t need sympathy, ‘n I don’t need charity.”

“It’s not charity,” Snow corrected gently. “It’s…looking out for our own.”

The bartender looked down. “Is she…where is she?”

“She’s at the Business Office. She’s been taken care of.”

“I’m gonna have to go down there ‘n get her.” Holly closed her eyes briefly. “Fuck.”

“Please,” Snow murmured, “we can handle the funeral arrangements for—”

“No, no, it’s…it’s kind of a…it’s a formality with trolls,” Holly explained quietly. “We burn our dead by sunrise or…I dunno, some old-world shit will fuck up your soul or something.” She looked up at Bigby sternly. “You’ll let me have her, right?”

“Of course,” the sheriff answered.

“Okay,” she nodded firmly. “Good.”

Snow stepped closer to the bartender. “Let’s go down to the Business Office when you’re ready, Holly, and start making the necessary preparations, alright?”

Holly nodded. “No point puttin’ it off.” She slid off her stool and walked to the door with her arms crossed.

Snow looked over at Bigby. “The club?”

“I’ll find it,” he replied. “See what I can get out of the owner.”

Snow glanced at Holly’s back and then gave Bigby a hesitant smile. “Thank you.”

He didn’t reply. His eyes bounced slowly between hers.

“Raincheck on dinner?”

Bigby offered her one of his small, rare smiles. “Sure thing, Snow.”

She looked at him warmly, nodded, and then went to move past him.

Something tightened in Bigby’s chest, and her caught her arm gently. “Snow,” he said quickly. He glanced at Holly to see her step out onto the street, and then he looked back at Snow with an urgent sincerity. “Please…” He searched her ocean eyes. “Please be careful.”

Snow faltered a little. Her eyebrow pulled together even as she smiled. She raised her hand to his on her arm. “I will be,” she murmured. “I promise. You be careful, too.”

His heart was hammering, something like fear making it difficult to release her again. He didn’t think he could handle losing her a second time. He forced himself to loosen his hold on her, and then he watched her leave.

When she was gone, the sheriff’s eyes drifted to the pool table, to where he’d nearly torn Gren’s arm off the night before. He closed his eyes briefly and then walked out of the demolished bar.


	12. Chapter 12

In summation, Bigby got lucky. The first cab he hailed knew where the Pudding and Pie was located. The sheriff had to ask the driver to take him to the Woodlands first to grab cash to pay for the ride that got him there—an interesting exercise in trust—before he could ask the same driver to take him back to the Bronx. The driver was less than pleased, but he didn’t put up too much of a resistance.

It was late in the evening when the cab finally pulled to a stop. Bigby saw a cheap motel, a quick-cash place, and the strip club all on the same side of the street. The club itself stood apart from either building beside it. Two long, wide alleyways buffered the adjacent buildings. As soon as Bigby stepped out of the cab, he realized why. Music blared inside the building. It was some terrible techno beat that the sheriff could hear clear across the street.

He grimaced and prepared himself for the inevitable headache. The place was obviously pretty crowded. Cars lined the curb on both sides of the street. Several girls had been placed on the sidewalk, dressed skimpily to attract more visitors. Bigby could see they each wore an identical purple ribbon around their necks. At least it was the right place.

A couple men spilled out of the club with one of the girls. She was laughing, both her arms around their necks as they walked in the direction of the motel. In one of the alleys, a couple was pressed against the wall, all hands. Bigby shook his head at the pink and purple neon sign over the door. It depicted a woman in a compromising position. Lights flashed sporadically to make it look as if she was moving against the pole she was pressed against.

Bigby gave a disgruntled sigh and walked across the street.

A woman in a tight plum dress was smoking in the alley closest to the entrance. Her blonde hair was cut short to give her an innocent, almost girlish look. She saw the sheriff grimace at the club as he walked, and she cursed under breath. No way was this a simple social call. The woman dropped her cigarette and stamped it out with her heeled shoe. She fixed her hair a little, checked her plum lipstick in a matching compact, and then walked from the alley nonchalantly.

Bigby has just reached the sidewalk when the woman stopped him.

“Oh,” she hummed, feigning surprise. She lowered her voice to achieve a raspy, honeyed tone. “ _Sheriff_ , what a nice surprise. I’m not sure we’ve ever entertained you here before. I’m Vivian.” She walked the rest of the way to him with deliberate leisure, letting her hips sway dramatically. Though she caught several other eyes, Vivian tried not to be offended when the sheriff didn’t offer her so much as a once-over. He was grimacing at a couple men snorting something as they exited the club. “You’re always welcome here, of course,” she said quickly with a warm smile. “Is this business…” She let her eyes scan him slowly enough to make a point. “…or pleasure?” Vivian didn’t wait for a response before she crossed her arms in a way she knew accentuated her figure. She drew several pairs of eyes again, but the sheriff barely looked at her. The only thing that seemed to catch his attention at all was the thin purple ribbon around her neck.

“I’ve got some questions for Georgie,” he muttered in his usual, gruff way.

Vivian gave a regrettable sigh. She winked at a man as he exited the strip club with one of the girls, and then she looked back at the sheriff. “So, straight to business this time? Well, let me know if you change your mind. Our girls would _happily_ entertain someone of such…authority. In fact, I think they’d rather enjoy seeing what it is you like.” She glanced him over again, her eyes falling pointedly to his waist. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious myself to know what you’re interested in.”

“I’m interested in Georgie,” the sheriff replied, unfazed.

Vivian rolled her tongue across her teeth before she smiled again. “Well, you’re in luck. He’s here. Come on, then, Sheriff. Allow me to take you to him.” She bent a little at the waist to get the door, letting her hips sway in a final attempt to get a rise out of the wolf, but it didn’t work. He wasn’t even looking at her anymore.

Instead, his eyes had drifted to the motel down the street—the Open Arms. The couple that had just emerged from club were on their way there, the man groping the girl shamelessly on the way. The motel must’ve gotten a lot of business from the club. If Georgie proved difficult, the sheriff could always see if the clerk knew anything. He supposed he could also try to catch one of the girls on their way out, though he knew they’d be less likely to reveal anything that would jeopardize their livelihood.

Vivian sighed and muttered a quiet curse she thought the sheriff couldn’t hear. She dropped her sexual act but maintained an innocently sweet one as she turned back to Bigby. “I should warn you that Georgie doesn’t like to be bothered while he’s working. And he’s in kind of a…mood today. I mean, even more so than usual.”

“I’ll be persuasive,” Bigby retorted dryly.

Vivian gave a wry smile. “Well, I can already tell you two will get along swimmingly.”

She gestured for the sheriff to enter first. The smell hit him first as soon as he stepped over the threshold—a pungent mixture of sweat, arousal, and alcohol laced with bouts of heady perfume and overpowering cologne. Bigby grimaced and resisted the urge to reach for a cigarette.

“Welcome to the Pudding and Pie,” Vivian murmured grandly, leading him leisurely down a long purple and pink hallway. A number of rooms broke off either end of the corridor, each with a lavish curtain pulled over the entryways—not very securely. Beyond the curtains, the sheriff noted several topless girls giving private dances. Several of them gently swatted away the hands of their patrons while others had given up entirely, grinding back against hazy-eyed customers whose hands were pressed tightly to their waists or thighs. Vivian gestured swiftly to a number of erotic posters of men and women in risqué positions. “Here, we cater to the diverse tastes of the Fable community. Your pleasure is our pleasure. Your desires are our desires. Discretion is our guarantee. Whatever you—”

“No offence, but you can save the pitch,” Bigby interrupted. “I’m more interested in your boss. What can you tell me about him?”

Vivian offered a dry laugh, moving aside to let one of the girls pass between her and Bigby. “Georgie’s the kind of man who likes to introduce himself. Don’t worry, Sheriff. You’ll soon find out. But, remember…I did try to warn you.”

Down the hall, and despite the crowded club, a man with a harsh accent was yelling. He outmatched the awful music for his first few words and then lowered his voice.

“Oi, fer fook’s sake! Wha’ d’you think you’re doin’?! Get over here, _right now_.”

Vivian’s eyebrows rose at Bigby as if to say _told you so_. She moved aside a thick, plum curtain to reveal a massive room. It was filled with chairs, tables, and patrons, all of whom were turned to face the long stage that occupied the last third of the room. Three women were dancing almost entirely naked on three separate poles. They didn’t response to the men hooting and hollering to them other than to offer a thin smile or bend over.

Bigby entered the crowded, loud room and got his first glimpse of Georgie.

The slender, fedora-wearing man was covered head to toe in a variety of tattoos that ranged in style from fully colored roses, minimalist skulls, and widespread spiderwebs. Words danced across his shoulders in cursive or block fonts and disappeared under his black tank top. He was half-sitting in a stool at the bar glaring at a bare-chested girl in front of him. Her eyes were wide and anxious as she mutely listened to him. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover herself as best she could, cringing when a man walked past her and slapped her thigh with a smirk. 

Bigby’s hands reflexively tightened into fists. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if she was even that old.

Despite the terrible music and hollers of the customers, Bigby could hear Georgie as if he was standing right beside him. “You look like you’re tryin’a take a shit out there on my fookin’ stage,” he snarled. “Who’s gonna wan’ that? _No one’s_ gonna wan’ that! You’re s’posed to turn the clients on. Look at this,” he added, grabbing crudely at himself. “Does _this_ look fookin’ turned on to you? Does it?!”

The girl’s cheeks flamed, and Bigby glared ahead. “Nice guy,” he muttered tightly to Vivian. “Seems like a real nice place.”

Vivian smiled. “You _do_ have a sense of humor,” she mused casually. “That’s good.” Her eyes flickered dispassionately across the room to the girl and Georgie. She turned and offered the sheriff an indifferent “Good luck” before she left.

“It’s your face!” Georgie growled. He gripped the girl’s jaw with one hand. “You have to _smile_! Christ, you never fookin’ smile! How many times do I 'ave to fookin’ say it?!” He released her so roughly she fell back a step. “At least _pretend_ you wanna be up there! If another fookin’ bloke comes over ‘ere to tell me you’re killin’ the fookin’ mood, I swear to _fookin’_ Christ, I’m gonna—” He didn’t get a chance to finish when Bigby stopped beside him. “Oi, Sheriff Wolf,” he sighed heavily. “Fookin’ perfect.”

Bigby ignored him. He reached for the black sweater draped over the back of the man’s stool and pulled it out forcibly.

“Oi, wha’ the fook d’you think you’re doin’, Sheriff?” the pimp demanded. 

Bigby held the sweater out to the girl. Her wide, sad eyes met his almost confusedly. She accepted the cardigan with a nervous glance at Georgie.

“What the fook, Sheriff,” the man repeated lazily. “That’s my fookin’ sweater.”

“Mind giving us a minute?” Bigby asked the girl politely.

She covered herself with the sweater and nodded slowly. Her amber eyes held Bigby’s for a lengthy moment, and then she retreated through the maze of chairs, tables, and patrons to the backroom.

Georgie tossed his hands into the air and then sat back in his stool. “What the fook, Bigby—you don’t tell my girls wha’ to do.” He shook his head. “Fine, then, wha’ d’you wan’? Are you ‘ere for a taste?” he wondered, gesturing to where the girl had gone. “Tell you what—jus’ for you, I’ll let you have ‘er, ‘ssumin’ she don’t make you wanna fookin’ kill yourself before you even get started. Or…eh, knowin’ you, she’s prob’ly not quite your style. You’d prefer someone who can take a bit of a beatin’, am I right, Bigby? Tell me, d’you prefer a stationary target, or one that’ll put up a bit of a fight first?”

“Fuck you, Georgie.”

“ _Fook you, Georgie._ Grr. It’s the Big Bad Wolf.” Georgie smirked and relaxed across the bar. Behind him, the bartender took a swig from a bottle before he poured a couple shots. “Jesoos, Bigby, ye’re so corny. I love it, though. No, seriously, I love it.”

Bigby took a step forward.

Georgie held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Okay, alright, Sheriff. “I’m jus’ fookin’ with you. Look, I know why you’re ‘ere.”

“Do you?” the sheriff muttered.

“I sure as shit do. Around ‘ere, Sheriff, we can’t afford to wait for you ‘n your swanky pals to take an interest in us. We have ta look out for each other. When shit ‘appens, I ‘ear about it, ‘specially if it concerns one’a my girls.”

Bigby glared at him. “In that case, I assume you knew Lily was glamoured.”

Georgie laughed. “ _Of course she was_ , ye daft git! She was a troll!”

“You know that’s not what I fucking mean, Georgie. She was glamoured to look like another Fable.”

“Yeah? Well, so what? Who gives a toss? People get up to all kinds’a things when no one’s watchin’.”

“It’s sick,” Bigby snarled.

Georgie snorted. “That’s quaint, Bigby, ‘specially comin’ from you.”

“And it’s illegal to impersonate another Fable.”

“It’s _frowned_ on.”

“It’s _illegal_ as long as I don’t like it,” the sheriff retorted through his teeth. “The thirteenth floor would _never_ provide a glamour like that. It’s strictly black market.”

“Ooh, black market, is it? Oh, ‘ow excitin’!” Georgie shook his head and grimaced. “This is exactly wha’ I’d expect from a thug like you. Storm in ‘ere half-cocked, throw around a bunch of accusations, try to scare people—but you’ve got fook all to back it up.” He turned and spat on the floor. “And we’re all jus’ s’posed to jump any time the wolf shows ‘is teeth. You used to be somethin’, you know that? Now look at you.”

Bigby pulled the glamour tube from his pocket. He popped the top off, tapped out the contents, and then slammed the tube down on the counter hard enough to attract several eyes. He unfurled the photo and then held it and the hair up to Georgie.

The man glared at him. “Get that outta my fookin’ face.”

“ _This_ was part of the glamour we found on Lily’s body. Take a good fucking look. She was impersonating Snow White. _Why_?”

Georgie looked up at the sheriff with a smirk. “Ahh, so _that’s_ what’s got you all worked up, Bigby. Someone encroachin’ on your territory.”

Bigby tensed. “Don’t make me destroy this goddamn place to make you talk.”

“Jesoos, Bigby, calm down. You’ve got this all fookin’ wrong. If Lily was doin’ a special glamour, it wasn’t for me. Fer fook’s sake, I wan’ that kind’a heat?!”

“Then who was she doing it for?” the sheriff demanded.

“She had _clients_ , Bigby. Fook kind’a place d’you think this is?” He offered the room a long sweep with his arm. “All these girls have fookin’ clients. Maybe one’a them asked her to do it for ‘em. Lotta fooked up people in Fabletown.”

“Like _who_?”

“Try lookin’ in the mirror, Wolf. Maybe it was you bendin’ some Snow-White-lookalike over a dresser to git your prick into ‘er for once. Fook do I care? It’s nowt to do with me.”

Bigby’s shoulders tensed. He grabbed the glamour tube, returned the items, and put it back in his pocket. He placed a fist on the counter and leaned in a little closer, but Georgie snorted before he could speak.

“Oi, you gonna ‘it me?” he muttered. “Go on, then! That’s wha’ you wanna do, right? Show everyone ‘ere who you are. I know your type.”

Rage threatened to blind Bigby. His fists tightened. He was trying so goddamn hard. “One more time,” he growled through his teeth. “Who—hired—Lily?”

Georgie frowned and leaned back against the counter. “Lower your fookin’ voice, Bigby. You’re botherin’ my customers.”

Before Bigby could reply, a largely built, genteel man with light blond hair came to the counter. He was in the process of gathering several empty glasses and mopping up a spill with a stained towel when Georgie shoved him back.

“Fook off, Hans,” he ordered.

“Wait a minute,” Bigby said when the man turned around. “Hans, is it?”

He glanced at Bigby mutely, picking up glasses off the counter further away.

Georgie gestured to him dismissively. “Hans jus’ cleans up ‘n provides some muscle when we need it; ‘e’s not gonna know anythin’ about the girls or their clients or any’a that. _No one_ knows, don’t you get it? It’s by design. ‘Discretion is our guarantee,’ right, ‘n the way we guarantee that is by no one knowin’ anythin’. Includin’ me. I cover my eyes ‘n take my cut—end’a story. Long as no one threatens my livelihood, I don’t get involved.”

“Why not look it up?” Hans suggested helpfully.

Bigby looked at him. “What?”

Hans remained oblivious of the club owner’s warning glare. “Isn’t there a little book with all the stuff about the girls and all that written in it? It’s kept back under the—”

“You’re a right fookin’ _moron_!” Georgie exclaimed, startling several of the girls. They hurried past the bar, heading to a table of customers who were discreetly snorting something through rolled bills.

“Show me,” Bigby ordered.

“There is no book,” Georgie replied sternly. He turned and snatched a wooden paddle off the counter behind him. The words _Crowd Control_ were etched messily into the flat side, making its threatening purpose all the clearer. “And as for you, Hans, we need to work on your communication skills. I’ve got a fairly good idea where to start, you fookin’—”

Bigby snatched the paddle from Georgie’s hands without difficulty.

“Oi! That’s my personal property. Give it back!”

“Where is the book, Hans?” the sheriff asked in a tight voice.

Hans glanced between him and Georgie. At the pimp’s second warning glare, Hans shook his head and returned to work. Bigby turned slowly back to Georgie.

“Tell me about the book,” he ordered quietly.

Georgie shook his head. “You ‘aven’t got the slightest clue about anythin’.”

“Two women are _dead_! I’m not fucking around here, Georgie. Give me the fucking book.”

“That’s it, Bigby. Go ahead, get angry. Tear up my place, beat me up—do wha’ever the fook makes you happy, because there is no fookin’ book.”

Bigby stared at Georgie for a long moment. He dropped the paddle on the counter, pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, and lit it slowly. The pimp watched him with feigned laziness, but his eyes were too tight to be convincing. For a long moment, Bigby simply smoked. The scent helped mask the others, allowing Bigby to think more clearly.

“Alright, Georgie,” the sheriff nodded slowly. “I’m shutting this place down.”

Georgie choked and gave a disbelieving laugh. “ _What_?! You think you can jus’ come in ‘ere, swing yer prick around, ‘n if I don’t jump, you’ll—you—under what grounds?!”

“Your club is in direct violation of several—”

“ _What_?! That’s _bullshit_!”

“Prostitution, narcotics, employee drinking, physical contact—”

“This is a _decent_ establish—”

“Clubs get shut down for a lot less, Georgie. And if I fucking see one more goddamn person,” he added a little louder, “touch one of your dancers, I’m taking them in.”

Several patrons looked up at the sheriff sharply. A few ducked out into the hallway or slipped out the back door.

“You unbelievable prick,” Georgie seethed. “This is my—fine, _fine_! Bloody wait there, then. I’ll show you your fookin’ precious book.” He shoved past several patrons. Bigby smoked quietly and watched the club owner march behind the counter angrily. “Move the _fook_ out of the way, Chris, ‘n put that _fookin’_ bottle down!” Georgie grabbed the edge of a keg and pushed it aside. He knelt down to a little safe beneath it, spun the dial swiftly, and pulled it open. Inside, a large stack of cash waited—easily a thousand dollars—beneath a single black notebook. Georgie grabbed the book and threw it at the sheriff.

Bigby caught it easily and left the cigarette in his mouth as he flipped the book open. There were two columns on every page; one was for the names of the girls at the club and their clients, and the other contained a list of vague numbers—102, 213, 118. Bigby scanned the names quickly, flipping through the pages. His expression darkened when he saw the right entry on one of the last few pages: _Lily (Snow White)—Mr. Smith—207._

“Got it,” Bigby muttered. “Lily’s last entry. Who the hell’s Mr. Smith?”

Georgie leaned against the counter with a regrettable sigh. “Oh dear, I’m afraid it might be a fake name, Bigby.”

The sheriff glared at him. “What’s 207?”

“Fook if I know. Millimeters, maybe?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Georgie. This is _your_ book, _your_ girls.”

“I’m not their fookin’ secretary! I give ‘em a stage. I give ‘em music. I provide an erotic venue to attract and retain clients. But let’s be clear on somethin’. The girls make their own arrangements with their own clients. Not me. The girls. They’re the ones with the Mr. Smiths ‘n Joneses ‘n Mr. X types. Whatever ‘appens outside the club, that’s on them. I log the business, take my cut, ‘n that’s it.”

Bigby flipped through the pages again. He grew increasingly angrier at the sheer number of times _Lily (Snow White)—Mr. Smith—207_ appeared. He got to a dozen entries within the last half of the book before he closed it angrily.

“She was seeing this man _repeatedly_ ,” he growled, glaring at Georgie. “And you really want me to believe you don’t know who he is?”

“You see ‘ow many fookin’ girls work at this club? What, ‘m I s’posed to ‘old their ‘ands ‘n take ‘em to their playdates? Fook off, Bigby. I don’t fookin’ know who she was seein’. She might’a had a dozen clients under that name. Fook do I care?”

Bigby pocketed the book angrily and stared at the counter for a moment. The repugnant scents of the room were slipping past his cigarette, and the throbbing music in the room was giving him a migraine. He was on the verge of leaving when he felt something prickle at the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder to see a pair of amber eyes watching him. The girl Georgie had been harassing stared at the sheriff for a long moment before she disappeared into the backroom again.

Bigby turned back to Georgie. “Get your fucking club in order. I’ll be back in a couple days to see if you’re still in violation.”

“How fookin’ generous of you, Sheriff,” Georgie spat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had quite enough’a you ‘n your bullyin’.” He marched out from behind the counter and stormed off towards the hallway.

Bigby walked the opposite way. He passed around the far side of the stage and slipped into the backroom.

The sheriff closed the door to a dressing room, relieved when the music dulled into a soft throb. The wall beside him was littered in small cubbies with a variety of the girls’ things placed into each one. Small nametags identified what belonged to whom. Bigby hesitated when he saw Faith’s. A simple jewelry box was near the back, its lock busted open. The little makeup box was broken open too, though it didn’t have a lock. Cosmetics were strewn on the floor below her cubby. Bigby assumed they were hers; everyone else’s were put away. He knelt and sifted through the items, but they were unextraordinary—a couple tubes of lipstick, some lip gloss, a compact, some glitter, and a folded note. Bigby hesitated again when he realized the compact was the same pale pink one she’d had the night he’d met her. Then she _did_ make it back to the club.

Bigby sighed and picked it up off the floor. He placed it carefully in her cubby and then reached for the folded note.

_Faith,_

_Thanks for covering for me tonight! Let’s talk before you go over to the apartment._

_Lily_

Bigby frowned and set the note in Lily’s cubby.

The sheriff stepped further into the dressing room, working his way around a long rack of scanty clothing. The room was empty apart from the young girl. She was more or less clothed now in a tight, revealing green dress that contrasted sharply with the purple ribbon around her neck. Something about her uncomfortable posture made it clear that the dress wasn’t her choice. She was sitting at one of the many dressing tables, staring at her own reflection with the saddest eyes the sheriff had ever seen.

“Hey,” she said simply. 

“Hey.”

The girl studied him in the mirror. Her amber eyes were remarkably intelligent and wise for her age. Bigby supposed it was the inevitable result of a girl who saw too much too early. “I don’t remember seeing you here before,” she murmured after a quiet moment.

“Guess I never had a reason to come,” Bigby answered with a small shrug.

The girl looked down. “Yeah.”

She stared at the mauve lipstick in her hand for a long time, and then she raised it and began slowly applying it. Her amber eyes flickered to Bigby’s again in the mirror as he leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms, watching her with a faintly perplexed expression. Something about her eyes seemed maddeningly familiar, but he couldn’t figure out why.

“You’re trying to place me,” the girl murmured with a knowing smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “They used to call me the Little Mermaid. Once upon a time. Does that help?”

Bigby blinked. “What do they call you now?”

The girl’s gaze fell to the dressing table, and she lowered her hand. “Whatever makes them happy.”

The sheriff closed his eyes briefly and looked away.

“My name is Nerissa,” she added, watching him again. She returned to applying her lipstick with a careful hand.

“Nerissa,” Bigby repeated. “Nice name.”

“Thanks.”

“Nerissa…I have some questions, if you—”

“Of course you do,” she said quietly. “I don’t have any answers. You’ll have to find those on your own.”

“Can I ask you anyway?”

“You can do whatever you’d like,” she responded. The answer seemed almost automatic.

“Does…the number 207 mean anything to you? Is it a time…a code…a room number?”

Nerissa leaned back in her chair. She looked down at the table and crossed her arms and legs in turn. After another moment, she raised a hand to her neck, absentmindedly playing with her purple ribbon. “We can’t talk about work.”

“Nerissa, this…is a murder investigation,” the sheriff said as carefully as he could. Despite his gentle tone, he couldn’t help the note of desperation that entered his voice. “Faith. Lily. I’m trying to find who—”

“I mean _can’t_ ,” Nerissa insisted, her eyes flickering up to his intently. “These lips are sealed. Discretion is our guarantee.”

Bigby stared at her in the mirror, studying her amber eyes for a long moment. “I’ve heard that phrase a lot lately. What does it mean?”

The girl finally turned around. Her expression grew so sad that he became worried.

“Nerissa,” he said quietly, his gaze growing intense. “Are you in danger here? Is Georgie—”

“We can’t talk about work,” she said quickly.

Bigby looked up at where the wall met the ceiling. “Please, Nerissa. This is very important.” He pushed off the wall slowly and pulled the little notebook from his pocket. He set it gently in front of the girl on the desk, flipping to Lily’s last entry. “This is what I need to know, Nerissa,” he said quietly, struggling to maintain stoicism. “The last thing Lily did was see a Mr. Smith glamoured as Snow White. Is 207 a room? Is it a—”

Nerissa’s eyes finally flooded. She’s looked close to tears since he walked in. “These…these lips…”

“I’m sorry,” Bigby murmured, closing the book again. He looked down and pulled off the dressing table. “I’m sorry, Nerissa. I shouldn’t have—”

“Sheriff Wolf, wait.” Nerissa looked up at him, her mascara smudging a little from her tears. Her amber eyes met his imploringly. “Would you like to make an appointment with me?”

“What?” Bigby replied, caught off guard. “No, I—”

“Sheriff,” she said again more firmly. “I think an _appointment_ with me could help…relax you.”

_Oh_. Bigby blinked. _I’m such an ass._ “Okay,” he agreed slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “What…would I need to do?”

Nerissa took the book from his hand. She scrawled her name, a fake name, and 204 in large, childlike handwriting. “I need a hundred and fifty,” she murmured. “It’s not good to be short.”

“Of course,” the sheriff replied. He reached into his pocket and flipped through his wallet for all the cash he had. “I got…shit, seventy, eighty…six, seven, eight—eighty-nine.”

Nerissa looked up at him. A very small, faintly amused smile spread. It struck him again how familiar she looked, and he frowned a little, studying her eyes.

She sighed softly and leaned over to her purse. She pulled out several of her own bills and counted them out swiftly. “I won’t take the last of your money,” she murmured, dropping her purse again.

“No, please, take the—”

“It’s fine, Sheriff. Keep your eighty-eight dollars.” She gave him another faintly amused look and then stood up. She barely rose to his shoulder, even in her heels. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Bigby picked the notebook off the table again and pocketed it. He turned and leaned against the dressing table, crossing his arms. His eyebrows drew together. The Little Mermaid. Fuck.

But that wasn’t why he knew her. Something about her eyes. It was a look he’d seen before, an expression familiar yet beyond his reach.

He was still frowning at the floor when Nerissa hurried back into the backroom. She took Bigby’s hand and pressed something cold into it—a key for room 204.

Bigby flipped the keychain over to see the words arced over the top. “The Open Arms,” he muttered. “This is where they met?”

Nerissa gave him the saddest smile he’d ever seen. “Enjoy your stay, Sheriff Wolf. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

She turned and walked out of the room again, her head and shoulders low.

Bigby watched her go and glanced at the long wall of cubbies. He shook his head and pushed off the desk to follow her out.


	13. Chapter 13

Bigby passed the quick cash place and headed to the motel just beyond. There was nothing but a small, cursive sign on the door that identified it as the right place—the same sign he’d seen from across the street. Bigby reached the door at the same time that a couple was walking out—a working girl without a purple ribbon and a cop with a dazed grin.

Bigby passed them with a grimace and entered the motel. He was assailed with a litany of smells, an array of bodily fluids more apparent than at the club, and he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it quickly, breathing in the mercifully awful scent as he approached the counter. It was hidden behind a large glass wall with a voice box and a small vent for passing keys back and forth. The shade behind the glass was pulled low, but Bigby could see someone sitting at the desk in the corner. Their red trench coat shifted, and he took another long drag before he rang the bell.

A woman sighed quietly. She got up from the desk and stood behind the shade. “Want it by the hour or for the whole night?”

Bigby’s eyes widened then he recognized her voice. “Wait—”

The woman gasped and ducked down, peering at him from under the shade. The blood drained from her face as she gasped a second time.

“ _Beauty_?”

She pulled on the shade so fast that it flung straight up and rolled several times. She stared at the sheriff in equal shock. “ _Bigby_?!” she whispered loudly. “Wha-what are you _doing_ here?!”

“I’m—following a lead. What are _you_ doing here?”

“I—” Beauty sighed heavily and crossed her arms. “I…work here, okay?” she admitted reluctantly, lowering her eyes. “I work the front desk. It’s to pay rent.”

“Is this—where you were going the other night?”

Beauty grimaced and nodded. “So…now you know,” she mumbled unhappily. “I know I should’ve told somebody, but…Beast would lose his _mind_ if he knew. Beast is a proud man, Bigby. He wants to do right by me, and he…he just couldn’t handle it if he knew I had to do _this_ just so we don’t get evicted. All of our friends live in the Woodlands. He’d be _mortified_.”

Bigby reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. After what he’d seen the last couple days, he was finding it difficult to sympathize with Beast’s vanity. “Well, your secret’s safe with me, alright?” he muttered. “Let’s not make a thing of it.”

“Thank you, Bigby. And…thanks for covering for me last time, too…” She glanced up at him. “So…what are you doing here?”

Bigby held his key out.

“Oh,” Beauty said reflexively. Her eyes widened after another second, and her cheeks flushed crimson. “ _Oh_ …y-you have a…a key.” 

“Someone else was murdered last night,” he explained quietly. “One of the last things she did was book a room here to meet a client.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Beauty sighed, relaxing again. “Oh, I thought you…” She cleared her throat and then looked troubled. “Yes, I…I heard about that poor girl.”

“Did you know her? Her name was Lily. She worked at the Pudding and Pie.”

Beauty wrinkled her nose a little. “Oh, oh, yes, I…the, uh, the troll, right? I did see her around. I mean, you know, we never really spoke. She came off a tad…intimidating.”

“Ever see Lily here with someone? Maybe on a job?”

“Sometimes,” Beauty shrugged. “But nobody I ever recognized. I haven’t worked here that long, though, and I only work the night shift. If she came during the day, I wouldn’t have known about it. But…those girls have their own keys. Sometimes, if they want to keep it off the books, they don’t always check in. The motel owner and the owner of the club have a deal.”

“Can I see a room register anyway? Did anyone ever check in with the name Mr. Smith?”

Beauty gave a derisive snort. “That’s all we get here—Smiths, Joneses, Johnsons. I think the last ones are jokes.”

“Have you…” The sheriff sighed heavily. “Have you ever seen Snow White here…or someone glamoured as her?”

Beauty frowned. “You know, it’s funny. I _did_ see someone who I thought looked a lot like her, but she didn’t say anything when she saw me, even though she knew I’d seen her. I just assumed it wasn’t Snow and went about my business.”

“Was she with anyone?”

“Hm…not that I saw, but it was only for a brief second.”

“Was it here?”

“No, out on the street.”

“Around what time?”

“During the day,” she shrugged. “Well, early morning. I was coming off my shift. I saw her on the street. Our eyes met, but then she rounded the corner without waving or anything, so I just figured…it wasn’t her.”

The sheriff sighed again quietly. “Okay, what about a girl named Faith? Ever see her around? Or even just hear her name?”

“I…might have?” Beauty grimaced. “I don’t know. By the end of the night, i-it’s all kind of a blur with all the different names. Tara, Brandy, Amber, Heather…They start to run together. Sorry, Bigby.”

The sheriff took a final drag and put his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Thanks, Beauty.”

“Wait!” she exclaimed when he turned to head upstairs. She dashed out from behind the counter, locking the door behind her. “It’ll be better if anyone sees you that they at least see you with me. That way, they know I didn’t just let you wander around by yourself. But…just _five_ minutes, okay, Bigby? Please.”

“We’ll see, Beauty,” the sheriff replied. 

She led the way up the stairs, twirling a lock of her long hair in her finger. “Just…be ready to act like I’m trying to kick you out, okay?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Listen, Bigby,” she added in a hushed whisper. “I assume you’ll be filing some kind of an official report or something, which is fine, only…”

“Only what?”

“It’s just that…I was wondering if…if I need to be in it?” She stopped at the top of the second floor to look at him sincerely. “Do you have to mention my name? I-I mean, it’s not like Beast would ever see your report, I know, but—”

“Beauty,” the sheriff said seriously, crossing his arms. “Is there…some kind of problem with the two of you?” Beauty cocked her head a little. “Is he…” Bigby sighed, looking at her gravely. “Is he…hitting or—”

“ _No_!” Beauty gasped, her eyes horrified by the very notion. “Oh, God, no, Bigby—no, no, no, _nothing_ like that! Oh, I promise, Bigby. He would _never_. I don’t mean to…God, no. It’s just…he’s a…proud man, and he wants to make me happy. If he knew I was working here to make rent, he’d…” She glanced away, searching for the right words. “I know it would make him feel like he wasn’t…” She frowned and gave up with a sigh. “I just don’t want him to have to deal with that, okay? I was just hoping my name wouldn’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about that, Beauty. The less I have to write down, the better.”

Beauty smiled and breathed out heavily. “Thanks, Bigby. I really appreciate it.”

“Sure, but…if there… _was_ a problem with him, you’d tell me, right, Beauty?”

“If there was a problem like _that_ , I’d cuff him myself,” she snorted haughtily.

Bigby frowned. “Okay. Uh, good. I think.”

She gave the sheriff a somewhat amused look and then gestured to the hallway. “Which one is it?”

“207.”

“Right this way,” she mumbled, leading him down the hall again. She turned beet red when the long, exaggerated sounds of a woman in alleged ecstasy reached them. Bed springs accompanied the sound piercingly, along with the quieter, more genuine grunts of her male companion. A litany of the man’s curses grew louder and louder by the second, and Beauty pressed a cold hand to her cheeks. “S-sorry about that,” she offered quickly, clearing her throat in an effort to cover the sound. “It’s, uh—y-you learn to tune it out after a while.”

Bigby didn’t reply. She glanced at him discreetly to find his gaze fixed grimly on the room at the end of the hall. There was no flash of humor, embarrassment, or even recognition in his eyes. She remembered his excellent hearing and realized this likely wasn’t the first time he’d had to tune out that kind of noise.

Bigby’s eyes flashed up to the stained-glass windows over each of the doors. Other rooms were bathed in light, but the one on the end was utterly dark. His frown deepened. He blocked out a myriad of sounds and scents, focusing as clearly as he could on the door across from him. He couldn’t detect a single sound from 207.

When they reached the door, he leaned forward a little, listening more intently. He couldn’t hear anything inside—no movement or breathing of any kind.

Bigby knocked on the door anyway, and Beauty frowned at him. The sheriff tried again louder, but there was no response. He tried the handle to find it locked.

“You have keys to these rooms?” he asked, glancing at Beauty.

“I thought _you_ had a key.”

“Not to this one.”

Beauty gaped at him. “Hold on a minute, Bigby! I can’t just let you into any room you want! Seriously! What if someone found out? I could get into a _lot_ of trouble.”

“I need to get in there, Beauty. This is the last place Lily was before she was killed.”

“But—”

“Please, Beauty. It’s important.”

“You—I…you…” She huffed indignantly and reached into her pocket. “ _Fine_.” She slipped a key into the lock and turned the handle—or tried to, anyway. It didn’t budge. She frowned and tried again before bending over to look at the lock closely. “Well, that’s weird,” she mumbled, jiggling the handle noisily. “This key is supposed to open every room in the building. But…it’s not working.”

Bigby frowned, too. “What does—”

“Beauty!” someone exclaimed in dismay.

Bigby sighed heavily at the voice.

“Beast?!” Beauty cried, whipping around.

“ _Bigby_?!” Beast gaped from the other end of the hallway. His expression was so hurt that the sheriff rolled his eyes and moved his hands to his hips with a sigh. He had neither the time nor the energy for this. “Wha—what is going _on_ here?! How—how could you do this to me?!”

Beauty glanced at the sheriff in confusion, and then she recoiled violently away when she realized what it looked like. She hurried to meet Beast halfway down the hall. “No, sweetie, no! Wait a minute! This isn’t—”

“How could you do this?! W-we’ve been together through everything! I took care of you, I-I _love_ —”

“It’s not what you think! Please, just—”

“You’re cheating on me? With _him_?!”

Bigby gave another heavy sigh and shook his head at the wall. He had half a mind to just break the goddamn door down.

“No!” Beauty cried vehemently. “No, Beast, I _promise_! I’m not! I’m helping him! That’s all!”

“I’ll _bet_!” Beast roared. His eyes flashed red as he glared past her to the sheriff. Bigby cursed under his breath. “I’m sure you two help each other just _great_! M-my _wife_?! I _know_ what kind of a place this is! I-I thought you ‘n Snow…How—how could you _do_ this to me?!”

“Beast,” the sheriff snapped in a gravelly, impatient voice. “This is a _murder_ investigation, for fuck’s sake. She’s helping me get—”

“Stop lying to me!” Beast exclaimed, raising his hands to his head. His eyes flashed red again, crimson burning through his irises, blotting out the otherwise dark color.

“Fuck—Beast, you need to _calm down_ ,” Bigby ordered. “You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing and—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! She’s my _wife_ , you fucking—mongrel! Doesn’t that _mean_ anything to—”

“Beast, listen to me!” Beauty cried, taking his arm. “There’s nothing going on! I’m not—”

Beast pulled away from her and then threw himself at Bigby. He grabbed the sheriff’s collar and roared in his face. “You bastard! I guess I finally see who you really are! All these years, you’ve been trying to fool everyone! I always stood up for you, said you weren’t a bad guy anymore! But—but _this_?! W-with my—with my _Beauty_?!”

“Stop it!” Beauty begged, grabbing her husband’s arm again. “Stop it right now!”

“You told me you hadn’t seen her! You fucking liar! You—you’ve been _fucking_ my _wife_?! This…this whole time?! M-my wife?!”

“Beast,” Bigby growled, shoving the other man back with a bruising strength. “I don’t want to hurt you. You need to calm the fuck down. Listen to your wife; she’s trying to—”

“Don’t talk about my wife! _You bastard_!”

“Beast, stop!” Beauty shrieked.

Horns burst out of her husband’s forehead, and a low, angry roar rumbled through his chest. He threw an unexpected punch that the sheriff barely managed to dodge. Bigby ducked under the next swing, swiftly switching places with Beast.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!” Beauty demanded. “You aren’t even _listening_ to me!”

Beast’s nails grew out into long claws as he stalked closer to Bigby. He threw all his weight into another punch. Bigby caught the blow and wrenched Beast past him. The sheriff tried to push him back, but Beast shoved him into the wall. The force of it in such a narrow hall slammed the sheriff’s head against the drywall. The wood creaked and groaned in protest from the hit, and Bigby blinked, dazed for a moment. He felt the first threshold claw at his mind. Fight or flight—always fight. So Bigby fought it.

Beast grabbed Bigby again. The sheriff broke the hold swiftly, but he missed Beast’s next move. With brute strength, Beast tossed him to the opposite wall. He followed it up with a staggering punch to the stomach that made the sheriff cough and bend over. Bigby deflected the next couple blows, but he missed the fourth. Snow flashed through his mind, as she always seemed to in these moments. It made the first threshold buzz even louder in the back of his mind.

Bigby ground his teeth. If he lost control, he knew he’d hurt Beast. She’d find out, and she’d never look at him the same again.

“Beast, stop,” the sheriff panted in a gravelly voice. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“Beast, leave him alone!” Beauty cried desperately.

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?!” Beast roared. He grabbed Bigby’s head and cracked it against the wall twice with hard, powerful strokes. The sheriff fell to the ground heavily, his gaze blurring dazedly on the chaotic, dirty carpet below him. His eyes flashed yellow, and he closed them tightly. Beast wrenched a piece of exposed piping from the wall as Bigby slowly found his feet again.

“Beast, honey, no!” Beauty shouted. “You don’t understand! Stop!”

Bigby tried to catch the pipe when it swung around, but he misinterpreted Beast’s intention. The pipe slammed into his chest and forced the air from his lungs violently. Beast pinned him up against the wall, pressing it higher into the sheriff’s throat. He forced Bigby off his feet, and the sheriff groaned in protest, struggling to free himself from the chokehold.

Beauty gasped when she saw Bigby’s eyes flash a brilliant yellow. It was a beautiful but deadly color, one that she—and every other Fable—feared.

“Beast, _stop_!” Beauty shrieked in a more desperate voice. “He’s—you’re— _stop this right now_!”

Bigby closed his yellow eyes. Desperation clawed at his chest and through his mind, whispering sweet nothings. He could destroy everything in this goddamn building and level it to the ground with a mere huff of his breath—and that knowledge terrified him more than anything else he’d ever faced.

“Stop—” he tried to warn, feeling his heart hammer too fast.

Beast dug the pipe in deeper until Bigby grew limp.

“ _Beast, stop this right now_!” Beauty grabbed his arm, struggling with all her weight to pull him back even just a step.

Bigby’s eyes flashed open again, and Beauty fell back. She picked herself up quickly and pressed to the wall.

The wolf panted, his claws lengthening and sharpening. His teeth grew out as he growled menacingly. He flashed his claws and slashed them across Beast’s chest. The man shouted wordlessly and finally stumbled back. Bigby landed heavily and immediately threw himself at Beast, knocking him to the ground with ease. Beast looked up at the wolf in shock, and Bigby punched him as hard as he could. He raised his fist to do it again.

“Bigby, no, please! Please don’t hurt him!”

Beauty’s shrill voice made him hesitate. In that brief opening, Beast grabbed the pipe again and broke it across the wolf’s head. Bigby hit the ground hard, and Beauty gasped. The wolf managed to pull himself to his feet with a low growl.

“ _You ruined everything_!” Beast shouted. “She’s my fucking wife!”

Beast grabbed Bigby and threw him against the door at the end of the hall. It buckled under the weight and gave way at once. The wolf fell with it inside a dark room. Beast loomed over him, raising his hand to punch him. His eyes caught on something, and then he stopped, a horrified expression replacing his anger.

Bigby realized what room he’d crashed into. He whipped around on the ground and pulled himself up slowly.

“What is this?” Beast gasped.

“What have you done?!” Beauty shrieked angrily from the hall. “Look at the door! You can’t just act like this whenever you—”

“Stay back,” Beast warned, trying to keep her away. “You—you don’t want to see this, Beauty.”

Bigby blinked, his eyes turning back to brown. He stared in horror at the bed. The light from the hallway shone faintly into the room, but he didn’t need it to see what was before him. The mattress was soaked, head to toe, in blood. The room smelled so strongly of copper that it nauseated him. Beast smelled it too; he stepped back, gagging once as he tried to keep his wife away. Purple flowers were arranged around the edge of the bed like some sort of shrine, but they, too, were drenched in dark, dried blood.

Lilacs, Bigby realized. The same as the petals Lily had grabbed shortly before she died.

A messy, crimson smear ran off the end of the bed and fell onto the carpet, like someone had pulled her off and onto something else to move her. The blood ended in an abrupt line—the edge of a rug or tarp, perhaps.

“Beauty, stay in the hall,” the sheriff ordered in a flat tone.

She stepped forward obstinately. “What? Why? What’s wrong with both of—” She gasped and yelped, shielding her eyes with both hands. She leapt back into the hallway where Beast gagged again. “Oh my God!”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“Is this…is this…”

“Lily met her client here,” Bigby replied darkly. “Mr. Smith.”

“And then…”

“Must’ve happened right here.”

“Oh my God…”

“Jesus,” Beast breathed.

“Last night?!”

“Yeah,” the sheriff muttered.

“I was on shift last night!”

“On…shift?” Beast repeated. “Wait, Beauty, are—a-are you a—”

“I’m not a prostitute, you _idiot_! And I’m not _sleeping_ with Bigby, either! I work the front desk!”

“Do you remember who rented this room last night?” Bigby asked, unable to look away from the bed.

“I don’t think anyone did. Not last night. Maybe they have it long-term? People do that sometimes. I don’t know! How am I supposed to know? It just seemed like a totally normal night!” She came back into the room and jabbed a shaky finger at the carnage. “How is _that_ even possible?! There’s so much blood…”

“Go lock the front door,” Bigby said to Beast. “Keep people out of the hallway. I need you to make sure no one comes in here. This is a crime scene.”

“But—”

“Just do it, Beast,” Beauty snapped. “I’ll explain later.”

Beast gave them both an abashed look and then left quickly.

“Bigby…” Beauty turned the overhead light on and came to stand beside him, her wide eyes fixed on the mattress. “What…what kind of a person could d-do something like this?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out.”

“I can’t believe this…”

Bigby forced his eyes from the bed. He looked around the room slowly. There were objects scattered all over the place, a variety of peculiar items, but he stopped when he saw a hardcover book of fairytales waiting on a round table near the dresser. Several pages were bookmarked with yellow sticky notes near the middle of the book. Bigby flipped through the pages slowly to the first one, and then he froze. 

“What is it?” Beauty whispered, looking over his shoulder.

“It’s…a book about Snow White. Or…the mundy version of her story, anyway.”

The first page showed a soft illustration of that version—a fair-skinned, black-haired woman in a creamy corset gown. The sticky note at the edge of the page had a single word scrawled across it in elegant handwriting: _Beautiful_. It was underlined twice. Bigby stared at the letters, but he didn’t recognize the penmanship offhand. He flipped to the next page to see a depiction of Snow holding a shiny red apple to same shade as her lips. The note there pondered: _Fuji? Red, delicious? Empire?_

“What’s what supposed to mean?” Beauty murmured with a frown in her voice.

“Different kinds of apples.”

“Oh…so, this whole book is just about her?”

“Yeah.”

The next page showed Snow in a glass casket. Wreathes of flowers adorned the base of it. The note wondered: _Was she breathing?_

“Why is she in a coffin?”

“This is the part where she’s in a…a deep sleep, but they think she’s dead.”

Beauty glanced at the sheriff. “How do you know so much about the story?” she wondered quickly. She regretted it immediately, afraid of embarrassing the sheriff.

But he wasn’t embarrassed. “Snow told me about it. She…hates this story.”

“I can imagine why…”

Bigby stared at the notes and the handwriting, hoping that if he looked long enough, it might trigger some kind of familiarity. When it didn’t, he released the book. His eyes fell to a little purple bottle of perfume—Snow’s. Another note was scrawled across it, the same as the one in Lily’s pocket— _Use me_.

“Is that Snow’s _perfume_?” Beauty demanded, a disgusted note in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“That’s…” Beauty shook her head and didn’t bother finishing the thought. Her tone was enough to imply her meaning.

Bigby moved to the dresser, flicking on the lamp. A red shade dimmed the light. It was meant to add a sliver of romance to the shoddy room, but it just made it seem even eerier. Bigby saw an ashtray near the mirror. There was one cigarette in the middle; it looked like it had been stubbed out almost immediately after lighting it—something a non-smoker might have done if the brand was too strong. Bigby picked it up indelicately and sniffed it.

“It’s a Huff ‘n Puff,” he muttered in surprise.

“What, really?” Beauty scoffed. “I thought _you_ were the only one who smoked that crap brand.”

“Apparently not.”

“Huh.” Beauty crossed her arms and then lifted a hand to gestured at a bottle of blue wine on the dresser. “Classy.”

Bigby reached next to it for a small, thin cassette tape. Another message written in the same hand was scrawled across one of the sides: _For my Arrival._

Beauty saw Bigby’s frown and tightened her arms uncomfortably. She slowly walked past the dresser, scanning the walls abstractly. She stopped when she got to the closet. “Hey, there’s something in here, Bigby.”

He glanced up and followed her. When he pulled open the door, they both peered in to see a long, creamy dress hanging. It was incredibly old-fashioned—a style Fables hadn’t had cause to don for centuries—and it was completely ravaged.

“Someone’s been rough with this,” Bigby muttered to himself. He involuntarily grimaced at the stains on the dress’s lower half and then gestured to the top half instead. “It’s torn.” The lacy corset had been ripped open violently. The stitches were mere threads in the wake of its abuse.

“Oh no!” Beauty suddenly gasped loudly. “She—she must’ve been wearing it! He killed her, and t-then he…he took it back off…and he—”

“No, there’s blood on it. It must’ve been torn some other time.”

“What? Why would it have—”

Bigby gave her a dark look.

“O- _oh_ …”

The sheriff looked back at the closet. He was on the verge of turning away from it when he realized what it was, and then he glared at it.

“What?” Beauty whispered.

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s the same dress as the one in the book.”

“ _What_?” Beauty gasped. She hurried to the book and flipped back a few pages. “Wow…you’re right! It’s—it’s exactly the same, down to the…” She looked up at him. “But… _why_?”

Bigby shook his head. “Must’ve dressed Lily up in it. Trying to recreate Snow from the book.”

Beauty wrinkled her nose. “Jeez…guess he…really wanted to get the details right. God, roleplaying as a person who really exists, who we _know_ …that’s just weird. I’m not sure who to feel worse for.”

Bigby gave her another dark look.

“Okay, no, I…” Beauty gave the bed a tortured look. “I take that back.”

Bigby turned to the bed, too. He stared at it grimly for a moment before he slowly walked around its edge. The clock on the nightstand was angled to face the wall—as if to hide the glowing red numbers. Bigby frowned. “Do all the rooms have these same clocks?”

“Um…I think so.”

“With the built-in cassette players?”

“Maybe? I…I think so, yes. Why?”

“Hand me that tape,” he said, pointing to the dresser.

“Oh…” Beauty grabbed it swiftly.

Bigby slid it into place and lowered the deck. He pressed play, and both he and Beauty froze. Meadow sounds filled the room. Birds and crickets chirped happily. Soft flutes and gentle melodies conflicted harshly with the macabre scene before them.

Beauty suddenly gasped again. “Bigby! I-I think I heard this music last night! It was playing pretty loudly for a while, and then it stopped in the middle! I didn’t think twice about it at the time…I mean, you hear all kinds of things around here. The only reason I noticed it at all was because it was kind of a refreshing change of pace!”

Bigby grimaced. “Might’ve covered the sound of the murder if it was playing loud enough for you to hear downstairs.”

Beauty paled a little. “Then…” She looked at the bed. “Is this…really where she…”

“Looks like she was lying down when it happened,” Bigby muttered grimly. “Flowers were already here.” He shut the music off a little more forcefully than he meant to.

“H-how do you know that?”

“Blood pattern. _On_ the petals, not under them. Also, the body was dragged off the foot of the bed there and moved into something that was used to transport it. The petals fell off the end with it.”

“The _body_? Jesus, Bigby! You could say ‘she!’ Poor girl…I just can’t even imagine.”

Bigby studied the flowers again, and then his expression darkened.

“What? What’re you thinking?”

“It’s the goddamn coffin,” he growled bitterly. “From the fucking story. He reenacted it here.”

Beauty’s lips parted in another gasp. “Holy—you’re right! He’s…he’s acting out the scenes in the book. That poor girl! She couldn’t have known. Probably just needed the money. She could’ve been anyone…How did she wind up here? I mean, not here _exactly_ , but…just, how does a person…?”

Bigby shook his head, glaring at the mattress.

“She must’ve been so scared…” Beauty looked down and then pointed swiftly. “Look! An apple! Like in the book, right?”

Bigby followed her gaze and then crouched down beside the fruit. “Single bite taken out of it.”

“Oh no! Do you think it was poisoned?! Is that how he—”

“No,” Bigby sighed. “I’d’ve smelled poison. It’s just another goddamn prop.”

“God, I can see it now…This creep put that girl in a Snow White dress and recreated the whole story from the book—the apple, the deep sleep… _everything_! You’re a better detective than I thought you’d be.”

Bigby frowned as he stood. “Thanks?”

“So, he planned it all out. He had all the details noted down. Only then, when it comes time to kiss her and wake her up…”

“Yeah.”

Beauty crossed her arms. “I hope you’re just about through here. I don’t really want to stay any longer.”

“There’s gotta be something here that—” Bigby’s eyes caught on a tiny flash of white under the bed. An envelope was hidden between the mattress and the box spring—a thick one, at that. He stooped over to pick it up and brought it over to the lamp on the dresser.

“Oh God,” Beauty groaned, coming to his side. “What else could there possibly be?”

The sheriff opened the envelope. It was filled with so many photos that it almost couldn’t close properly. He pulled the stack out and looked at the first one.

It showed Snow walking down the street by herself, her eyes fixed on a file she was reading as she went.

“Is that the dead girl?” Beauty wondered as Bigby set the picture aside.

“Don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“I’m in this next one,” he muttered, angling it towards her. “It was taken last winter.” He and Snow had been working together on another case. They were coming out of Cindy’s shop, both in their winter coats. Snow was smiling at Bigby for something he must’ve said. The sheriff’s hands were shoved in his coat pockets, but he had his own small, wry smile. Fat snowflakes obscured parts of the photo, and Bigby suddenly recalled Snow joking about working in blizzard conditions.

“Oh no,” Beauty breathed. “Bigby, this kind of stalking…it doesn’t just stop by itself. Trust me, I know about this firsthand. He’ll keep trying to get closer and closer.”

“His stand-in for Snow is gone.”

“So the next step closer…”

Bigby’s expression darkened. He dropped the picture on top of the other, and then his eyes widened at the next shot.

“Bigby?” Beauty recoiled, a note of horror stealing into her voice.

The picture was in the same motel room they were standing in, but it had been taken far before the elaborate fairytale setup. The glamoured Snow was in the same dress from the closet, pressed tightly against the wall. Someone was between her legs, his long, tanned fingers grasping at the creamy skin of her thighs. Bigby stared at the figure’s clothes in shock—rolled-up sleeves, untucked white shirt, long brown hair. The man’s face was concealed, tucked against the fake Snow’s shoulder, but there was no mistaking the figure.

“It—it looks just like _you_ , Bigby!” Beauty exclaimed. “It’s…it’s _not_ , right? Wait, is it?”

“Of course not,” Bigby snapped.

“Well, it looks _just_ like you! Though, the hat is a little, uh…”

Bigby threw the photo down angrily with the others. The next one featured the same girl in the same dress. The stand-in Bigby was lying between the girl’s legs, his expression pinched as the fake Snow’s head was thrown back, her fingers balling the shirt on his arms.

“Good…Lord,” Beauty coughed.

Bigby threw it down. And the next one, and the next, and the next—dozens of explicit photos of a glamoured Snow and Bigby—sometimes it was Snow alone, sometimes Snow and Bigby, sometimes Snow and an obscured figure, but she was the focus of every last goddamn one of them.

Bigby was getting angrier and angrier with every photo he discarded, but one of them made him stop. This one added nausea.

“ _Jesus_!” Beauty complained.

It showed the same glamoured Bigby violently ripping open the bodice of the creamy dress. The girl playing Snow was crying, but the sheriff couldn’t tell if the assault was genuine or part of the roleplay.

He threw it down furiously.

The next one was less violent but no less horrifying. The fake Snow was riding atop an obscured man. His hands were clamped around her waist, keeping the long dress out of the way—bony, pale hands with thin fingers.

“Wait, it’s not you anymore,” Beauty muttered. “Er—I mean, he’s not glamoured to look like you anymore. But I can’t see who it is.”

Bigby didn’t reply, throwing it down with the others. The next was back to a faux Bigby and Snow pressed against a wall. The fake sheriff’s hands were evidently struggling to hold the fake Snow up, using the wall for balance.

“These are, um…” Beauty cleared her throat again awkwardly. She stepped back once, swallowing uncomfortably.

Bigby slammed each photo down. It wasn’t until he neared the end of the stack that one of the pictures made him freeze. The blood drained from his face.

“W-what is it?” Beauty asked anxiously, looking over his shoulder again.

“It’s…”

“Oh my _God_!” Beauty gasped loudly. “ _Crane_?!”

The photo revealed Snow White in her gown, pretending to be asleep on the bed of lilacs. The deputy mayor was leaning over her with a sick smile, one hand placed demurely on her cheek. The other was sneaking under her skirt between her legs.

Beauty recoiled when Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow. The sheriff dropped the photos and gripped the edge of the dresser violently in an effort to calm down. “I’m gonna kill him,” he growled through his teeth in an unfamiliar voice.

Beauty was shaking her head. “I-I can’t believe it! H-he _killed_ that girl?! H-he’s been…with someone who looks like…I can’t—”

“That fucking piece of _shit_!”

“God, you think you know a person!”

Bigby’s arms started shaking the dresser, and he squeezed his yellow eyes shut.

Beauty regarded him nervously. “Bigby, just…just calm down, okay? It’ll be alright. Just—take a breath.”

The sheriff shook his head. He gathered up all the photos—every last one, all the evidence he would need against that fucker. He wanted to rip him to shreds, eviscerate the fucking coward, and throw him down the goddamn Witching Well for good measure.

He stormed out of the motel room in long strides, forcing Beauty to jog to keep up.

“Bigby! You have to tell her!”

“I know!” he growled, his eyes flashing yellow again. His breath burst out of him in angry pants. He felt more tempted to shift than ever before, if only for a release of the rage that made his hands shake. Instead, he took the stairs down loudly, trying to convince himself that his half-werewolf form wouldn’t help a goddamn thing.

“What’s going on?” Beast asked in the lobby. He saw Bigby’s face and frowned. “What’s wrong? What did you find up there?”

“Not now, Beast,” the sheriff barked, pushing him roughly out of the way to get to the phone.

“Crane’s the killer!” Beauty whispered loudly to her husband.

“ _What_?!” the man exclaimed. “Are you— _Ichabod Crane_?!”

Bigby ripped the receiver off the hook and dialed the familiar number swiftly. No one picked up. He tried again. And again. “Shit!” he shouted, trying Snow’s apartment instead.

Beauty looked up at Beast. “Crane’s been roleplaying as—”

Bigby ripped the phone off the wire and threw it angrily across the room. It shattered against the wall, and pieces flew haphazardly in every direction. 

“Whoa!” Beauty yelled. “Bigby, calm down!”

The sheriff paced back and forth, raising a hand to his eyes. He closed them tightly, struggling to regain control. When he opened them again, his irises were still a rich, brilliant yellow.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Bigby,” Beauty said, choosing a soothing tone.

It didn’t help.

“Will someone please explain this to me?” Beast exclaimed exasperatedly.

“That perverted little fucker is after Snow,” Bigby answered with a rumbling growl. “I need to find her _right now_.”

“Okay,” Beauty said calmly, stepping closer to him. “Bigby, calm down. Your eyes—it’s going to be okay. Just try to think. Where did you see her last?” The sheriff pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes again, trying to breathe normally. The first threshold lashed dangerously close. “Did she say where she was going, Bigby?”

“She took Holly to the Business Office,” he answered. “They went to prepare for the funeral, but no one’s picking up there or at her apartment.” When he dropped his hands, his eyes had returned to their usual brown, and Beauty relaxed a little.

“Wait, you mean Lily’s funeral?” Beast wondered.

“Yeah.”

Beauty glanced at him. “How did you—”

“I was just at the Trip Trap. I heard Gren telling some folks there about her funeral at the Buckingham Bridge—”

“The _Trip Trap_?!” Beauty demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “Wait, are you _drinking_ —”

“When?” Bigby growled.

“Now, right now,” Beast answered hurriedly. “They were on their way out when I—”

Bigby hit the door and slammed it behind him so hard the glass cracked.

“Bigby!” Beauty hollered, running after him. “Bigby, _wait_!”

He stopped on the sidewalk, giving the pavement a murderous glare. “What,” he muttered through his teeth.

Beauty came around to stand in front of him. “Bigby, just…Snow’s…Snow’s been through a lot, okay?” Bigby looked up at her, and she leveled her gaze at him. “There are a lot of things she doesn’t talk about.”

“I know that,” he snapped.

“You’re not listening to me. There are things she doesn’t _talk_ about. Not even with you. Just…just be careful when you tell her. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

Bigby hesitated.

Beauty, sensing victory, kept pressing. “You know how you felt when you saw those pictures? Well, it’s going to be much, _much_ worse for her, okay? Do you get that?”

Bigby stared at her, some of his heat dissipating.

Beauty noticed. “Just remember that, alright? I know you care about her, but if you go in there like _this_ …it’s just going to make it even worse for her.”

The sheriff closed his eyes and bowed his head a little. He breathed out slowly. He knew she was right.

“Do you understand?”

He nodded quietly and opened his eyes again. He glanced over and calmly waved down the cab that was barreling down the street.

In the alleyway outside the Pudding and Pie, Nerissa was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She watched Bigby get into a cab and take off. She reached up idly to play with the ribbon around her neck, her eyes growing sad as his cab disappeared around the corner. Vivian called her name, and Nerissa pushed off the wall slowly. She followed the other woman into a black sedan and tried not to look back.


	14. A Crooked Mile

It was close to ten when the taxi stopped at the Buckingham Bridge. It took Bigby a minute to realize. He paid and got out quickly, breathing in the thick air. The heat wave appeared to have broken; it was cooler tonight than it had been in weeks.

Construction supplies, trucks, and equipment were nestled under one end of the bridge near the river. Bigby could see the faint halo of candles lighting the path. He followed the maze through construction gear to a wide, long clearing.

Bigby didn’t realize how truly tense he was until he heard Snow’s voice. His shoulders loosened a little, and he released a quiet breath. She was giving a eulogy in a soft, soothing voice, and when he rounded the corner, Bigby saw her standing in front of the others. She’d changed since he’d last seen her, donning a black outfit befitting the grim circumstances.

“…and if you’re here,” she was murmuring quietly, “then you were part of a very special circle, people she trusted and cared for.” She glanced up and saw Bigby’s arrival. She shook her head minutely as she continued. “I won’t offend you by claiming that one day, the pain of losing Lily will ever subside…”

Bigby moved to the back of the funeral and pulled out a cigarette. He stepped into the shadows and leaned against a Jersey barrier tiredly. His gaze drifted around the audience slowly. Prince Lawrence was near the back, staring at the ground beneath his feet numbly. Vivian was sitting by herself at the front, giving Snow her rapt attention. Gren, Holly, and Nerissa were all sitting close together. Gren’s hand was on Holly’s back almost absentmindedly, his head bowed as he listened.

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes, pressing into them while he smoked quietly.

Snow was focused on her eulogy, but whenever she glanced up at the sheriff in the shadows, her tone faltered. Something was wrong. She could see that plainly in his stance, in the drained, flat look in his eyes when he felt her stare and met her eyes. He was resting against a half-wall with his ankles crossed in a falsely casual posture, but Snow knew him well enough to read the tension in his shoulders and the hollowness of his expression.

By the time she called for a moment of silence, Snow’s heart was hammering in her chest. Bigby could hear it from the back of the funeral as he stared at the ground. It made him feel even worse. Snow waited as long as she could before calling the next person up. She tried to walk discreetly down the aisle and excuse herself, but Holly turned around to see why. Her expression became furious, and Bigby met her eyes with confusion.

“No,” Holly snapped, interrupting Vivian as she jumped up from her chair. She marched over to him angrily with Gren right beside her. “Not you. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Holly!” Snow called, chasing after her. She tried to catch the woman’s arm, but Holly pulled away sharply and quickened her speed. Bigby dropped his cigarette and stood up to meet her. Snow saw the vacant look in his eyes, and she suddenly worried about how much more he could take today. She walked faster, swiftly putting herself between him and the seething woman. “Holly, no, it’s not—”

“He wasn’t fucking invited,” Holly spat, glaring past Snow at Bigby.

“It wasn’t his—”

“He has no right to be here! Not after what he did.”

Bigby looked down. “Holly, I’m sorry, but I had to come.”

Holly’s expression hardened hatefully. “You throw my sister down the Witching Well, and you have the nerve to show your face here?” Bigby’s eyes flashed up to hers in shock. “After you lie to my face?”

“Get the fuck outta here, Sheriff,” Gren barked.

Bigby frowned. “Wait, _what_? What happened to Lily’s—”

Holly growled at him. “Don’t fuckin’ pretend like you don’t know! You _threw_ my sister down the _fucking_ —”

“Holly, _stop_!” Snow said loudly, raising her hands. “That was Crane! _Just_ Crane!” The sheriff looked away angrily. “Bigby was following a lead on your sister’s murder; he wasn’t even _at_ the Business Office. I’m telling you the truth!”

“Don’t cover for him,” Holly snapped.

“But this _genuinely_ wasn’t his fault!”

“You can’t tell me Bigby gives a fuckin’ shit about this.”

“I’m sorry, Holly,” Bigby interjected, his tone so sincere that it gave the troll pause. “I didn’t know that fu…” He licked his lips, struggling to regain control. “I didn’t know he did that. I never would have allowed it.”

“Bigby _does_ care, Holly,” Snow said quickly, resting her hand thoughtlessly on his arm. “He wants to help.” She glanced at him, worried by the way he appeared to be avoiding her eyes. “And I’m sure he has a very good reason for being here, but this isn’t his fault.”

Holly looked down and away, crossing her arms tight over her chest.

Gren didn’t back down. “Why _are_ you fuckin’ here?” he demanded. “And don’t say it’s ‘cause you care.”

Snow glanced at Bigby. “Is everything okay?” she asked quietly.

Bigby looked down at her, and she saw something flicker in his eyes, something she didn’t quite know how to read. “I need to talk to you,” he replied in a grave tone.

“Are you serious?” Holly demanded through her teeth.

Bigby gave her a hollow look. “Yes, Holly. I’m sorry. This can’t wait.”

Gren’s hands tightened into fists. “You _fuckin’_ kiddin’ me? You interrupted Lily’s funeral so you could fuckin’ talk to—”

“I wasn’t trying to interrupt,” Bigby replied quietly. His tone was more tired than Snow had ever heard. She realized it scared her. “I just…I needed to…” His eyes flashed to Snow’s before returning to the others. “I’m sorry, Holly. Really, I am. I…I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important.”

Snow didn’t think she’d ever heard the man apologize so many times. It made her even more anxious.

“You fuckin’—I can’t believe this,” Gren grumbled as Vivian walked over. “Ever heard of a fuckin’ phone? You choose this time, of all the fuckin’ times, to—”

“Okay!” Snow said, stepping in front of the sheriff again. “Okay, look, Bigby and I are going to talk far away from the ceremony, alright? Look, Holly, I know how this must—”

“No,” Holly replied calmly. “You don’t know how this ‘must feel.’ You have no fuckin’ clue…” She looked past Snow to Bigby, glaring at him evenly. “Don’t you dare fuck anything up. Don’t bother anybody. And when the first sign'a trouble comes—and it will fucking come, because you’re a goddamn walking magnet for it—I want you the _fuck_ out of here.”

“Of course,” Bigby replied quietly. It made Snow feel even worse when he didn’t look like he disagreed with the sentiment. “I’m sorry.”

Vivian turned to Holly. “Let’s just continue, okay?”

Holly shook her head bitterly. “This is such total fucking bullshit.”

Bigby felt a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, and he looked up to see Nerissa watching him. Her sad, sad eyes held his. “Let’s go, Holly,” she murmured, not looking away from him.

He frowned at her slightly. She looked like she wanted to say something. She even parted her lips to do so, but then she walked away with the others.

Bigby turned around. He pressed a hand to his forehead as he led Snow back into the shadows.

“Bigby?” she murmured worriedly. “What’s wrong?”

The sheriff shook his head, brushing his hair back distractedly. He started with what had become the easiest piece of news to digest. “Crane murdered Lily.”

Snow’s eyes flashed wide. “Wh… _what_?!” she gasped as quietly as she could.

“I followed a lead to this shithole motel, the Open Arms. Crane had a room there, and he’s been taking prostitutes, or…at the very least _Lily_ …and making her look like…like you while he was…you know.”

Snow paled. She tried to shake her head to deny it, but she could only stare at him in shock.

“The bed was covered in blood and—” Bigby’s eyes grew angry, and he looked away from her. “I just…I know it was him.”

Snow continued to stare at him. “This…” She hesitated a moment longer, and then she turned around, pressing a hand to her stomach. Bigby closed his eyes briefly. He couldn’t tell her the rest. He hoped she wouldn’t ask. “This…this is…” She shook her head, as if to clear it. “I…I don’t even know what to say right now. I really don’t. I’m…I’m just trying everything I can right now to not… _picture_ it.”

“I’m sorry, Snow,” the sheriff murmured quietly, his voice so solemn that it worried her. There was more, she realized with dread. “And I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

Snow cleared hear throat softly. “You’re…are you sure this is what happened?”

“Yeah,” he answered softly.

Snow turned to look at him. Her expression and tone changed, adopting a note of desperation for another explanation. “This is what he’s been doing? Are you certain? Please, Bigby, we…we can’t…this—if you think this is what happened, we have to be _sure_. Beyond a doubt, absolutely positive. We can’t just…I mean, I trust your instincts, Bigby, I always have, but we can’t work off…off assumptions or…This…We have to be _sure_.”

“I’m…” Bigby looked away briefly. “I’m sure, Snow.”

“How?”

Bigby met her eyes again slowly.

“ _How_ , Bigby? Please. I can take it. We just have to be _sure_.”

“I’m sure, Snow,” he repeated, his expression turning faintly pleading.

“Tell me how.”

“I…have proof.”

“What kind of proof?” The way he looked away from her made her feel even more uneasy. “What kind, Bigby? What did you find? Tell me, please.”

The sheriff raised a hand to his eyes. He looked like he was deciding, and it took everything in Snow to not pressure him. He waited a long moment and then brushed his hair back again before he managed to meet her eyes with difficulty. “Crane took photos, Snow. A lot…a lot of photos.”

“Photos,” she repeated slowly. “Photos of…what?”

He gave her a somewhat tortured look. 

Snow grew paler and pressed a hand to her stomach again. “You…” She cleared her throat when her voice came out hoarse. “You saw these photos?”

He didn’t have to say anything. The answer was clear in his eyes.

She swallowed and forced a firmer voice. “Do you have them with you?”

“I brought them for evidence so we can…arrest him,” he answered. His voice tightened, as if arresting Crane was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Give them to me.”

Bigby’s eyes widened. “Snow—”

“Please, Bigby. I…I need to see them. Give them to me.”

The sheriff shook his head slowly. “You don’t need to see it, Snow. It’s…” He swallowed, struggling for the right word as he looked away.

“If you saw them, I need to see them, too. I need to know what he’s been doing.”

Bigby’s eyes met hers imploringly. “Do you trust me?”

She didn’t even have to consider it. “Of course I do.”

“Then trust me, Snow. You don’t want to see them. We have the proof we need. Let’s just leave it at that…please.”

Snow’s heart pounded erratically. “Bigby,” she said firmly, holding her hand out. “Let me see them.”

The sheriff stared at her for a long moment and then at the river for an even longer time. He closed his eyes briefly and then pulled the envelope out. He handed it over to her slowly, reluctantly. It weighed heavily in her hands, more heavily than she expected, and she frowned. She gave the sheriff one last glance and then opened the envelope where he could see, pulling out a thick stack of photos. The first several featured her or her and Bigby walked down the street. When they were together, they were almost always talking, laughing, smiling. She recognized the way she looked at Bigby and blushed when she realized how obvious her affection for him must be. In one of them, Bigby was giving the softest smile she’d ever seen him give, his eyes on the ground as she laughed beside him. Something about his expression felt incredibly intimate and personal, like something she wasn’t meant to see. She realized it was because it felt like an admission of the feelings she’d always suspected he’d had.

Such soft, innocent thoughts were violently yanked away from her when she flipped to the next photos. Her heart stopped, and her lips parted.

It was some kind of roleplay, obviously. A glamoured Snow and Bigby, displayed and exposed in a variety of rough or intimate scenarios. The first several photos showed a glamoured sheriff ravaging her—willing or no. At this, she peripherally saw Bigby look away.

Snow couldn’t breathe. She flipped through the pictures faster, thumbing through them shakily. Bigby between a woman’s legs— _her_ legs. Bigby pinning her to a wall. Snow riding him. Bigby ripping the bodice of a dress open forcibly. Snow on her knees, pale, bony fingers that weren’t the sheriff’s lacing through her dark hair.

Her heart was hammering out of her chest. The next photo made her stop, and, for a breathless moment, she thought she might actually be sick. The evidentiary photo revealed her and Crane in bed together, his hand snaking up her skirt.

Snow’s eyes filled in shame, but she didn’t stop. Bigby wasn’t looking anymore. He’d closed his eyes. The sound of her heart beating faster and faster, every time she inhaled sharply or stopped breathing altogether—everything made the rage roiling in him grow stronger. And it made him feel something else, something he couldn’t readily identify—something weak and helpless.

Snow needed to see them all. She didn’t know why, but she needed to know every last thing that happened. Her fingers shook wildly with every new photo, and she was certain that several of the times she saw herself and Crane together, she really would be sick. Sometimes else crawled into her chest and laced through her thoughts—the realization that Bigby had seen this, had essentially seen _her_ in all these compromising positions, and that made her eyes flood again.

The next several photos were more or less the same: a sleeping Snow, a bed of flowers, a looming Crane. In some of them, he fondled her openly. In some he was between her legs, his tongue licking a stripe up her neck. In others, he was red-faced and sweaty, his bony fingers clutching at her skin as he took pleasure in her unconscious body.

By the time she finished, Snow’s stomach was churning violently. She put the photos back in the envelope slowly and carefully. Bigby finally looked back at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes yet. She felt humiliated, exposed, violated. She felt sick and weak and shaky. More than anything, though, she felt hatred—a twisting, violent hate that surprised her with its strength. She hated Crane for his fixation, for his fantasies, for how he’d chosen to enact them. She hated the photos he had taken. She hated that Bigby had seen her like this. Most of all, she hated that a woman had lost her life trying to placate Crane’s twisted lust.

“You took a cab here, right?” she asked, her quiet voice even and flat.

“Yeah,” Bigby answered softly.

She nodded. “I’ll drive.” She managed to look up at him briefly, reading the apology in his eyes.

“Snow…”

“Let’s go, Bigby.”

Before they could walk anywhere, though, Nerissa walked over to them briskly. “Snow?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning around to the girl. “Nerissa, what is it?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting, but Holly’s asking for you.”

“Are they starting the burn?”

“Yes. Holly said everyone who spoke is supposed to be present for this part. She’s…she’s kind of distraught. You’re not leaving yet, are you?”

Snow looked at Bigby fleetingly before she dropped her eyes to his collar. “Two minutes?”

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

“I’ll be fine.” She tried to peek at him again, but her eyes stung with humiliation, and she quickly looked away again. She handed him the envelope. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll…I’m fine. Wait here for me. Just a moment.”

Bigby took the envelope slowly, his chest tightening at the tears in her eyes. He watched her leave with a tortured expression.

Nerissa stepped a little closer. “How’d it go? At the motel…Did you find anything?”

“It was Crane’s room,” the sheriff mumbled. His gaze drifted to hers. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

The girl closed her eyes briefly and then stared at the ground. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to.

“Thank you, Nerissa,” he added quietly. “You—”

“Nerissa!” Vivian called.

She jerked a little and looked back. “Coming, Vivian!” She glanced at Bigby a final time and then hurried to the ceremony.

Bigby reached up to rub his forehead. He released a long, weary sigh as he folded and tucked the photos into his pocket with little difficulty. He crossed his arms and looked over at Snow again. She was gathered in a loose circle with the others. Holly leaned forward to light the pyre. Flames danced across several eyes as they solemnly began the rite.

“Constable,” someone murmured.

Bigby tried to turn around when he recognized Dee’s voice, but something hard butted him in the back—the barrel of a shotgun. Both Tweedle brothers flanked him, and Bigby ground his teeth.

“Easy now, girl,” Dum said, his own shotgun levelled at the sheriff’s head. Dee’s jabbed against his kidneys, and Bigby glared murderously ahead. “You know how this goes. Dee, make sure he doesn’t move. We don’t want a mess.”

“Now is _really_ not the time whatever you jag-offs are planning to do,” the sheriff growled through his teeth.

“Well, that’s just the thing of it, isn’t it?” Dum replied. “Plans never quite go as…well, _planned_.”

“Except,” Dee added with identical inflection, “it isn’t _our_ plans you should be concernin’ yourself with.”

“Indeed not.”

The gun butted against the sheriff’s back again, and Bigby turned as much as he could to give Dee a deadly glare. “This is a fucking funeral.”

“And we won’t cause no fuss,” Dee replied. “If you behave, we’ll behave. We just got a small matter to discuss, ‘n then we’ll be on our way.”

“It’s you who decides how this goes, constable,” Dum mused.

“We’ll skip to the chase, for all’s sakes. A little birdie told us that you’re fittin’ to go after Crane.”

Bigby tried to look back again and received a firm hit in the kidney. “How the fuck—”

“You needn't concern yourself with that, mate,” Dum replied.

“You see, chap,” Dee hummed, “we have a special interest in that particular boy.”

“So…you leave Crane alone, ‘n we’ll leave _you_ alone. Sound fair?”

“A little vacation is all! Crane’ll be comin’ with us.”

Bigby glanced at Snow and the others, his glare hardening even more. “You have three seconds to fuck off before this goes a place you don’t want it to.”

“Oh, don’t have me stopwatch on me,” Dee sighed regrettably.

Holly glanced up in time to see Dee hit the sheriff with the butt of his gun again. She clenched her jaw and glared at the funeral pyre, fuming as the others finished.

“So, what’s it gonna be, chap?” Dee wondered. “We have a deal or what?”

Bigby glanced over his shoulder to mutely glare him down.

On the other side of the clearing, Snow realized Holly was shaking. She thought it was grief until she saw the murderous look in her eye. She followed her gaze and parted her lips. One of the Tweedles laughed quietly, and she saw the sheriff spit something back at them furiously. Concern tightened her chest, and she left the others to walk over to them briskly.

“Brother,” Dum warned when the rest followed her approach.

“Speak your mind,” Dee snapped, the barrel of the gun digging into Bigby’s back. “Fastly now, what’s it gonna be?”

“Don’t fucking hurt anyone,” Bigby snarled.

“That don’t sound like a yes to me,” Dum sighed.

“Always wantin’ to do things the fun way,” Dee muttered. He pushed Bigby forward several steps with his gun and held the weapon up to the others. Dum copied the action, his own shotgun leveled at the sheriff’s head. “Ladies, gentlemen, invertebrates,” Dee called loudly. “Please, rest easy. This is not a—”

“What the hell’s this?” Gren demanded angrily.

“What’s happening?” Snow asked at the same time. “Bigby, are you alright?”

“Very sorry to impose,” Dee continued. “But we only have a deal to work out with the sheriff—”

“What fuckin’ deal?” Holly said through her teeth. “You’re workin’ for these dipshits?”

“Fuck no,” Bigby replied, offended. “These fuckers are trying to get me to leave Crane alone.”

“ _Crane_?” Gren repeated incredulously. “Fuck’s that weasel got to do with anything?”

Dee looked genuinely disappointed. “Now, that wasn’t very nice, ol’ boy, really!”

“That wasn’t right,” Dum agreed. “Tellin’ everyone our dealin’s and whatnot!”

Holly roared behind the others, and a flash of green light exploded. Bigby whipped around in time to see her shift into her troll form. “What did I tell you?!” she shouted. “What did I _fuckin’_ say?! You fuckin’ _magnet_!”

“Holly—”

Another flash of light burst out beside her, and then Grendel was slamming the ground angrily with his fists. “You think you motherfuckers can just come here?” he demanded in a low growl. “You think you can just fuckin’ interrupt Lily’s fuckin’ _funeral_?!”

Dee aimed at Holly. Bigby jerked in front of the shotgun, and Snow gasped. The sheriff raised his hands to both parties, looking back and forth angrily.

“Everyone, calm down,” he ordered.

“Yes, calm down, darling,” Dee said, fear coloring his tone. “It was just a simple business transaction. No need to—”

“You freaks aren’t gettin’ away with this!” Holly roared.

“Holly!” Snow warned. “D-don’t move! Let Bigby handle this!”

“Listen to your lady, love,” Dee said shakily.

“Everyone stop!” Bigby ordered when Dum’s gun shifted to Grendel. “Holly, Gren, don’t move. Let me handle this. Dee, Dum—drop your fuckin’ guns _now_!”

“Let’s spare all the fuss,” Dee agreed, cocking his weapon. “It’s just a dead whore.”

“ _I’m gonna kill you_!” Grendel shouted at the same time that Holly screamed.

“Snow, get back!” Bigby ordered when the bartender lunged forward. The sheriff tried to rush Dee, but he was too far back to reach the weapon in time. Dee fired, and Holly hit the ground hard.

“ _No_!” Grendel hollered, throwing himself at Dum. He managed to grab the gun and tackle the man to the ground.

“Bigby!” Snow shrieked.

“I got it, Dum!” Dee exclaimed, aiming his weapon at Grendel’s massive form.

Bigby made it in time to wrench the gun up a little. A shot rang out deafeningly, pellets scattering out widely. A couple of them tore across Grendel’s back, and the creature roared in fury. Bigby yanked the gun out of Dee’s hands and hit him across the head with the butt of the weapon. Dee fell to the ground dazedly. Bigby turned to help Grendel—too late. Another shot rang out, and the white creature fell beside Holly.

Dum turned his shotgun, terror paling his features, and the barrel landed on Snow. Bigby lunged forward, and Dum jerked it towards the sheriff instead. The shot rang out deafeningly.

“ _Bigby_!” Snow screamed in horror.

Pellets tore into Bigby’s shoulder. He fell to the ground with a low grunt. His ears rang with the shot, and he growled, raising a hand to the bleeding wounds.

“ _Bigby_!” Snow shrieked again at the sight of the blood. She ran over to him without thinking; simultaneously, Dee and Dum took off down the maze of construction work. It only took a few seconds for Bigby to hear their car start and screech away.

Blood seeped through his white shirt, pooling on the ground below him. “Fuck,” he muttered hoarsely through his teeth.

Snow fell beside him, her hands flitting over his shoulder without actually touching him. Over a dozen holes had been ripped through his shirt, each one bleeding heavily. “L-let me see! Let me—oh God, Bigby!”

“I’m fine, just—go check—” He groaned and clenched his jaw. “Fuck—go check on the others—check on Holly. Where’s— _shit_ —where’s Nerissa?”

“She—” Snow looked around with wild eyes. She located the girl by the pyre. Vivian was holding her down away from the others. “She’s alright, Bigby!”

“Go check Holly,” he said again, letting his head fall back to the ground.

Snow pulled herself up again quickly and ran across to Holly. Bigby pulled himself up with a low groan, fighting the first threshold as it clawed at his chest. His vision swam as blood slipped ceaselessly between his fingers and dripped to the ground below. He saw Holly and Grendel panting side-by-side—both alive but unconscious. Snow rolled Holly over gently, gasping at the wounds scattered across the troll’s torso. She looked up at Bigby urgently, fear and guilt contorting her expression as she desperately tried to think of what to do.


	15. Chapter 15

Bigby was sitting on the edge of Snow’s desk in the Business Office, staring at the floor. Snow was with Bufkin, shaking her head at the Magic Mirror in dismay. Crane had smashed it before they’d arrived, and the flying monkey was trying to sift through hundreds of broken shards to piece it back together again—an arduous process that would have driven Bigby crazy, but the monkey was handling the job well.

Dr. Swineheart was winding the last of the gauze around Bigby’s shredded shoulder and arm. Beside him, a cup of bloody tools and pellets sat. One of the pellets had fractured Bigby’s collarbone, but the rest were less serious.

The doctor sighed quietly as he worked. “I did as well as I could to take the buckshot out, but there’s still some shards left embedded in your shoulder.” Snow looked at Bigby worriedly and crossed the office to stand beside him. “They’ll eventually worm their way out on their own, but…until they do, you’re gonna be sore as hell.”

Bigby figured he must have unconsciously made a face of some kind, because Snow crossed her arms. “Bigby,” she reprimanded softly, “Dr. Swineheart is the Fabletown physician for a reason. Listen to him.”

“It’s okay,” the doctor hummed, tying off the last of the gauze and stepping back. “There’s really only one thing you have to take away from all this, and I’ll say it as slowly as possible so as to not understate it: _Take it easy_.”

Bigby tested his shoulder with a quiet grunt and a wince.

“Don’t go looking for more fights,” Swineheart continued. “Keep strain off your heart. And, for the love of God, try and get some rest. I’ve seen corpses with better complexions.”

Bigby looked at Snow. “Are you okay?”

Her expression softened. “Yeah, Bigby,” she murmured. “I’m good.”

The sheriff glanced at Swineheart. “Is she?”

Snow smiled gently and looked down. The doctor gave the sheriff a knowing, almost fond look. “She’s fine, Bigby. I had everyone who got wounded sent home. Holly refused to let me see where she lived, so I left her and Grendel back at her bar with a dose of juniper and spring water. Since you refused even that much, I’ll leave you with this instead: The stitches won’t hold up if you continue to act as you normally do. And, uh, eat more chicken. Your blood pressure’s through the proverbial roof.”

“I’ll try, doc.”

“Alright then. Very good. And Bigby, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I do hope I don’t see you anytime soon.”

Bigby snorted.

“Thank you, Dr. Swineheart,” Snow murmured as the phone rang. She sighed and hurried to the deputy mayor’s desk to grab it.

“Well,” the doctor mused, “I suppose that’s that. I’ll leave it to you two. Bigby.”

“See you, doc.”

Bigby tested his shoulder again as Swineheart left, and he grimaced at the ground. Snow was on the phone for a minute and then returned to Bigby with a sigh. “The town is starting to find out…”

Bigby shook his head. “Great.”

Snow’s eyes drifted sympathetically to his shoulder. It was bandaged well over his tanned skin, but she knew it had to hurt more than he was letting on. Bigby stared grimly at the floor for a minute before he got up to reach the fresh shirt from his apartment that he’d left over her chair.

“So,” Snow hummed quietly. She brushed her hair behind both ears and glanced away. “To, uh…recap…”

Bigby worked the shirt over his shoulder with difficulty. “To recap, Crane watched me through the Magic Mirror uncover his room at the Open Arms, then he smashed the mirror so we couldn’t use it to find him, and we know this because Bufkin was drinking in the rafters.”

Snow crossed her arms, grimacing as Bigby dressed. It was obviously painful, but he did it as casually as possible, wincing only a little as he lifted his arm to button the shirt. Despite his soreness, he didn’t button it any lower than usual, leaving the top couple undone.

“That about cover it?” he added, glancing at Snow when she didn’t answer.

“Yep,” she replied too quickly. She watched him work the tie around his neck one-handed. He was managing fine, but when he winced again, she stepped forward. “Here,” she murmured, holding her hand out. “Let me do it.”

“It’s alright, I—”

“Bigby,” Snow said firmly. “I won’t think any less of you, I promise. Come here. Accept some help for once in your life.”

Bigby’s lips quirked into an almost imperceptible smile, and he conceded with a heavy sigh. He walked closer to her and draped the tie over her fingers.

Snow’s heart picked up a little as she stepped closer to him than necessary. She looped the tie around his neck carefully, wary of hurting his shoulder with careless movements. Her fingers brushed against his skin when she flattened his collar again, and she focused her eyes on the knot. It had been more than a few years since she’d had to do this, and she suddenly felt sheepish.

Bigby was watching her quietly as she focused. His own heart reacted to her close proximity, heat rising in his stomach every time her fingers brushed against his chest.

Snow felt it, too. She found herself working a little clumsily, glancing up at him periodically as her cheeks grew warmer. Her gaze flickered to his lips, realizing they were thicker than they seemed from far away. She frowned at herself for the thought, sighing quietly when she realized she was doing the tie wrong. She undid the knot, a small crease forming between her eyebrows as she worked.

“Shut up,” Snow suddenly murmured with a wry smile.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bigby replied, fighting his own smile.

“I can _hear_ you trying to come up with a smartass remark.”

“Just relieved you’re not good at _everything_.”

Snow snorted, her cheeks flushing. “I happen to be an expert knotter.”

Bigby unexpectedly chuckled at her conviction, his teeth flashing briefly when he smiled and looked away. “Hm.”

“What?” Snow demanded quietly. “I could do this professionally.”

Bigby gave a rare grin, his eyes on the shelves across the room when she had to undo the tie again and start over. “I can see that.”

“This is an off day for me.”

“Mhm.”

“Give me a hundred ties, and I’d do them in a minute.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t sound so doubtful, Sheriff,” she smiled.

“Maybe I’ll believe you when you finish this one.”

Snow chuckled and grinned. “Shut up.”

Bigby looked back at her. His chest felt tight with the sound of her laugh and the sight of her smile. A few locks had fallen loose from her chignon, and he wanted to reach up to brush them back behind her ear. Instead, he looked away again, his eyes falling to the desk beside them.

Snow gave a satisfied smirk when she finished the knot. “ _There_ ,” she hummed. “I think you should always have me do your ties,” she added without thinking. She gripped the lower part of the tie and gently scooted the knot up to where Bigby’s shirt was loosely buttoned. Her stomach was fluttering ridiculously, heat rising to her cheeks once more.

She’d finished the knot, but she couldn’t bring herself to move her fingers. She looked up at him slowly. His chocolate irises bounced slowly, almost lazily between hers. Her gaze fell a little to his lips and flickered languidly back up.

The sheriff searched her eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He could hear hers just as fast. She parted her lips to say something, but no sound came out. Her gaze fell again to his mouth, and he resisted the urge to lift a hand to her cheek, to sweep his thumb across her soft skin. Ocean eyes met his warmly, and she moved a little closer.

Bufkin gave a pitiful sound of frustration, and the spell broke. Snow blinked and released Bigby’s tie. She stepped back and turned around as her cheeks reddened. Bigby cleared his throat quietly, adjusting the tie slightly. He brushed his hair back and settled on Snow’s desk again.

Snow folded her hands loosely. “I—suppose that once Bufkin puts all the pieces back together, it…will be easy to catch Crane.”

Bigby gave a heavy sigh, crossing his ankles. “So…we just wait for that to happen?”

“It’s all we have right now,” Snow replied, her tone equally unhappy with the prospect. She walked to Bigby again and lifted herself onto the desk beside him. She crossed her ankles and let her feet sway gently as she folded her hands in her lap again. Bigby turned his head in her direction, but his eyes were on the floor.

“What the hell is going on, Bigby?” she whispered, her tone defeated. “I don’t…I don’t understand this anymore. I don’t know what the Tweedles get out of this. I-I don’t know if Crane sent them or…why they might be after him if he didn’t. I don’t even know if—” She sighed and deflated a little. “I mean…I know this is gonna sound…crazy, but…” Bigby glanced over at her, and she searched his eyes. “Do you _really_ think Crane did it?”

She expected him to get angry. She expected him to list the dozen or so reasons for why the man _had_ to be guilty. She expected him to grow disgusted at the prospect of doubting what they knew.

Instead, he just looked away.

“Everything points to him,” Snow continued quietly. “I get that, but…do you _really_ think he killed those women? Because it’s…it’s just…it’s incomprehensible to me.”

Bigby closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know,” he replied in a tired voice. “From what I saw at the Open Arms, everything seems to point to him murdering Lily. But…Faith? Why would he kill her? It doesn’t seem connected. Little things, like the ribbon. Whoever left Faith came in through the alley, left the denim patch, cut themselves on the fence. Why would he go through that effort when he lives here? And why would he leave their heads here at all? Whoever did that was trying to get our attention…” Bigby shook his head. “I just don’t know anymore.”

“Yeah,” Snow murmured, crossing her arms loosely. “It doesn’t make sense. He’s…he was a _conniver_ , a…a coward…a liar. And I’ll _always_ hate him for that, and I’ll hate him for how he…held me in his thoughts.” The sheriff closed his eyes again briefly at the hoarse note in her voice. “But _murdering_ prostitutes?”

“Ow!” Bufkin suddenly shouted.

Snow half-turned to look back at him. Her knee brushed against Bigby’s leg, but she didn’t appear to notice. “Everything okay over there?” she called softly.

“Oh, yes, Miss White!” Bufkin replied. “Just cut myself on a piece of glass! Nothing to worry about!”

Snow turned back. She glanced over at Bigby and then nudged his arm gently. “Thanks for tonight, by the way.”

He looked up at her.

“That could have gone really terribly. I mean…even worse than it did.”

Bigby grimaced and looked away again. “They wouldn’t’ve shown up if I hadn’t.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But I’m glad you were there. And…I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Bigby huffed a quiet snort at the revival of his awkward words in the elevator. “Thanks.”

Snow smiled and looked down at her fingers. She played with them for a long moment, growing more serious. Something itched at the back of her mind, a question she’d had for a long, long time. She’d never felt brave enough to ask it. Either that, or it was never the right moment. This one didn’t seem terrible. “Bigby?” He looked at her. “Can I, um…can I ask you a question? It’s…kind of…personal. And I-I don’t want to offend you, but after tonight…it’s…it’s kind of on my mind again.”

“What is it, Snow?” he asked softly.

His tone made her more nervous. She liked the way he said her name; it was almost enough to make her change her mind. She swallowed and looked down, uncertain she’d go through with the question if she saw his warm, gentle eyes. Bigby looked away, too, so she could collect her thoughts. “It’s just…It’s just, when stuff hits the fan, like…like it did tonight, it…feels like before we came to the city. It feels kind of like home. And…I’ve heard it said that… _maybe_ …in some tiny, little bottled-up way, deep, deep down inside…that maybe you…kind of…enjoy it…when things go wrong.” Bigby looked at her. “Because it…gives you an excuse to just…you know…stop pretending?”

Snow reckoned there were few things she’d regretted more in her life. He composed his expression quickly, but not quickly enough to hide the hurt that flashed across his eyes.

Bigby looked away from her, faintly surprised at the pang in his chest. He supposed her question answered the one he’d had for decades, for centuries. He would never just be Bigby Wolf, not even to her.

Suddenly, he felt very, very tired. Tired of fighting his own nature. Tired of trying so goddamn hard.

Snow’s expression fell, and she angled herself to face him. “Bigby, I didn’t mean that you—”

“No, Snow,” he answered so quietly she barely heard him. He turned his head away from her, staring at the tiled floor. “I don’t enjoy it.”

“Bigby, I didn’t mean to imply that you were—”

“Uh, guys?” Bufkin called worriedly.

“Just a minute!” Snow snapped in an irritated tone. She grabbed Bigby’s arm when he pushed off the desk slowly. He let her keep him in place, but he didn’t turn to look at her. “Bigby, wait, I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“It’s alright, Snow. I know what you meant.”

“No, you—you clearly don’t. I just—will you look at me, please?” He turned around slowly, and she felt even worse when she saw the flat look he gave her. It didn't successfully conceal his thoughts, and her own expression pinched at it. “I didn’t mean—I just meant that…I—I _meant_ that…” But she didn’t know what to say, how to fix it.

Bigby waited for a moment in silence, and then he pulled away from her carefully. “What is it, Bufkin?” he asked, walking across the office slowly.

“ _Bigby_ ,” she tried again, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

The sheriff didn’t turn around. He didn’t have the energy anymore.

“We have a problem,” Bufkin replied.

“What is it?”

The flying monkey noticed the sheriff’s tone, and he glanced up at him concernedly before he continued. “I…I can’t finish the mirror. It’s…missing a piece.”

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes and leaned heavily against the table behind him. “Of course it is,” he muttered.

Snow came storming over, angry at herself and Crane and Bufkin all at once. “What do you mean it’s _missing_ a piece?” she demanded.

Bufkin shrank back from her rage. “Yes, it’s, uh…as you can see…it’s not…um…here.”

Bigby’s eyes rose to the mirror. It was impressive, really, that the monkey had managed to fix it so flawlessly—and so quickly. Everything had been pieced together, large pieces and small shards. Everything but on long, jagged shard in the middle.

“I can’t believe this,” Snow said angrily, resting her hands on her hips.

Bufkin’s ears twitched. “I…saw Crane pick something up after he smashed it…” A fire burst behind Snow’s eyes, and Bufkin cringed a little. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize what it was until now!”

“ _Bufkin_!” Snow exclaimed.

“I-I’m sorry, Miss White! I-I—”

“It’s not his fault,” Bigby said quietly, his eyes on the mirror. “You did a good job, Bufkin.”

Snow grew distressed. “The mirror can’t work unless it’s _whole_! That means—”

“Well,” Bufkin hummed quietly, “that’s not _entirely_ true.”

“So, what, Bufkin,” she snapped, wielding his name like a weapon. “We just sit around and wait until it mends itself?! We have _no idea_ how long that will take!” She crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, we’re just going to have to do this the hard way.”

“I’m just saying, waiting is an option!”

“No. We can’t depend on the mirror.”

Bigby looked at Snow. “What’s the hard way?”

She glanced at him, shame making it difficult to hold his eyes. He appeared dangerously defeated now, and it made her chest tight. “We’ll…look through his things. His desk. His files. _Everything_. He had to have left something that tells us where he might be going. He’s a neat freak, but he was never that smart.”

“Smart enough to take a piece of the mirror,” Bufkin mumbled under his breath. Snow glared at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. “We can still solve this ourselves! I know it—”

“Never mind that,” she interrupted. “Bigby, come help me look. Please.”

She turned and marched away. Bigby was on the verge of following her when Bufkin stopped him.

“Wait, Mr. Bigby. I…I can still help.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” the monkey smiled. “I saw him jump on the telephone before he left! He called up somebody. He said he needed to see his witch, or that he would need to get to the witch for that…whoever _that_ is.”

“His witch?” Bigby repeated with a frown.

“Yes! It sounded like the one he might have gotten his, erm…Snow glamours from,” he finished with a whisper.

“Mm. Thanks.” Bigby realized the monkey was wringing his fingers, and he sighed quietly. “Look, uh, the…the whole mirror thing…it’s not your fault, alright?”

Bufkin peeked up at him. “You…you mean it?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you, Bigby,” he smiled sadly.

The sheriff pushed off the table and joined Snow at the deputy mayor’s desk. “Bufkin said he overheard Crane call someone before he left. Sounds like he’s going to see a witch or… _his_ witch. His glamour witch.”

Snow glanced at him. “Wait, really?” She frowned. “None of the thirteenth-floor witches would allow that sort of thing. They must be somewhere in the city.” She looked down with a grimace. “It’s _something_ , I suppose.”

“Find anything?”

Snow peeked at him again, but he wasn’t looking at her. “No,” she replied softly. “But there’s enough notes and stuff here to take all night. Maybe…would you…mind helping me look?”

“’Course, Snow.”

His usual answer made her feel even worse. “Maybe…that stuff over there?”

Bigby walked around her to the other side of the desk. She watched him a moment, trying to find the right words as he started pulling out drawers and rifling through files. She closed her eyes briefly, unable to come up with anything, and she joined his search after a few seconds of hesitation.

As soon as she’d bucked up the nerve to try apologizing again, Bigby pulled something out from a drawer.

“What is it?” Snow wondered when she saw his expression.

Bigby tossed it on the desk. “His key to the motel room,” he answered in a tight voice.

Snow glanced at him again, her hands busily sifting through files. “You…still haven’t told me what was in there.”

The sheriff’s expression darkened even more. “Crane was, uh…paying Lily to live out a fantasy. Forgive me if I spare you the details of the room itself.”

Snow realized her fingers were ice cold. “I just…I keep thinking back. I keep…replaying little moments in my mind. Interactions with him—when he’d catch me in the elevator or when I caught him watching me or when he’d…bump into me outside.”

Bigby stopped, resting his hand on the desk. “I’m sorry, Snow,” he muttered grimly. “Sorry he did this to you.”

“And that’s just it. I feel…sick about what he did, but Lily lost her _life_. So, how does my… _discomfort_ compare to her—”

“What he did was wrong, Snow,” Bigby said firmly, finally looking at her. “There’s no hierarchy.”

Her gaze fell to the desk. “I guess you’re right. Just…”

“Just what?” he prompted quietly.

“It’s just…how long has this…been going on?” She didn’t want to bring it up ever again, but the envelope rested at the forefront of her mind. “Those photos didn’t crop up overnight. How…how long did it even take him to get bold enough to leave evidence of it, and why would he do that? How long did it take him to use his own glamours to look like…” Snow shook her head. “I just can’t help feeling that maybe if I hadn’t…if I hadn’t been so…”

Bigby turned to her, his eyes angry, but when he spoke, his tone was soft. “Snow, this isn’t your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. This…this is about him and his _sick_ fucking…” Bigby breathed out sharply and looked at her again more evenly. “You couldn’t have known.”

“No,” she disagreed quietly as she searched. “I could have. I _should_ have. I should’ve recognized it.”

Bigby stared at her for a long moment. “We’ll get him, Snow,” he promised quietly. “He’s not going to get away with this. He’s not getting away with any of it.”

Snow looked at him, and she realized that, despite how hopeless the situation felt, she believed him. “Thanks, Bigby,” she whispered.

The sheriff reached for the pencil drawer to find it locked. He glanced at Snow, and she nodded once for him to proceed. He rested his injured arm against the desk to steady the furniture and forced the drawer open with surprisingly little effort. Inside, there was only one object: a thick, heavy book. Bigby picked it up and dropped it on the desk with an audible thump before he flipped through the pages one-handed.

“That’s one of our history books,” Snow frowned. “One for…old artifacts, it looks like. Charms, amulets—that sort of thing.”

“One’s missing,” Bigby mumbled, stopping halfway through the book. A page had been hastily torn out. Part of the title remained, but it wasn’t enough to be helpful.

“Hm,” Snow murmured thoughtfully. “The Ring of…” She frowned and shook her head. “Bufkin, do you know which page was here?”

The monkey flew overhead and landed on top of the multilevel inbox beside Bigby. He peered over the sheriff’s shoulder for a moment. “Ahh, it must be a ring of some kind.”

Snow rolled her yes. “What would we ever do without you, Bufkin?”

Bigby snorted quietly despite himself at her delivery. He glanced at the monkey pointedly, and Bufkin sighed before continuing. “Every magical item not retained in the armory is assigned to someone in Fabletown. Maybe he’s going to ask the witch about it.”

“Yeah,” Snow added, annoyed again. She stood up straight and placed her hands on her hips. “Bigby told me. Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“No one asked me!” Bufkin replied defensively.

Bigby frowned at him, and Snow threw her hands up. “ _Bufkin_!”

“And I’m hungover! I’m sorry!” Bigby shook his head and crossed his arms. The movement strained his shoulder, but he ignored the pain as the monkey continued. “All I remember is that he set the meeting for two o’clock tonight.”

They both turned on him again. Snow released a frustrated noise. “ _Bufkin_! When you were planning on _mentioning_ that crucial detail?!”

“I just did!”

“Christ, Bufkin!”

The door to the Business Office burst open and slammed shut just as fast. Everyone turned to see Bluebeard storm in. Snow gave a rare curse under her breath, and Bigby sighed as his day went from bad to worse.

“What’s going on here?” Bluebeard demanded haughtily. “Is the mirror fixed yet?”

“Bluebeard,” Snow snapped. “This isn’t the time. The Business Office is closed.”

“Is the mirror fixed or isn’t it? You called me to—”

“I _called_ just to see if you knew where Crane could be, and that was it, okay?! And I’m sorry I even did that much!”

“Well, you did, and now I know. The cat’s outta the bag. So, can we find the little pervert or not?”

“Bluebeard, get the fuck out of here,” Bigby ordered. “I’ve had enough of your meddling. This is none of your business.”

“None of my business?” the man repeated incredulously. “Crane’s the murderer, he escaped, it seems he’s foiled your every attempt at locating him, and now it’s _none of my business_?!”

“We don’t know if he’s the murderer,” Snow shot back.

Bluebeard scoffed derisively. “Oh please! Of course he is!”

“Look, this just isn’t the time! He took a piece of the mirror, so we can’t use it, alright?”

“The only thing we know for sure,” Bufkin added helpfully, “is that Crane’s going to see a witch at two o’clock!”

Bigby and Snow glared at the flying monkey.

“AM or PM?” Bluebeard demanded.

Bufkin hung his head. “AM…”

“Listen, Bluebeard,” Snow said angrily. “You’re not a part of this!”

“I don’t think you’re in the position to turn away help, mine or otherwise.”

“Define _help_.”

“We don’t need your kind of help,” Bigby grumbled. “After what happened with Tweedle Dee—”

“Just ignore him, Bigby,” Snow said quickly.

“Ignore me?! Ha! I’d like to see you try! What the hell’s Crane going to a witch for?”

Snow clenched her jaw and spoke through her teeth. “We _think_ it’s to acquire a magical ring.”

“What ring?”

Snow’s hands grew tight on her hips. “We don’t what it does or who it’s assigned to since Crane tore the page out of the book.”

Bluebeard exploded. “This farce was _your_ ridiculous idea, and now I find out you have _nothing_?! I mean, honestly, who put you in charge in the first place?”

“Back the fuck off, Bluebeard,” Bigby warned.

“Fixing the mirror was the most logical solution!” Snow exclaimed defensively.

“You’re a _secretary_. You have no right to make those calls! And he’s the goddamn sheriff! Neither of you were chosen to run this office!” Bluebeard advanced bitterly, and Bigby stepped in front of Snow. “Who elected you two to make these decisions?!”

“Nobody,” Snow admitted, “but that doesn’t—”

Bluebeard turned on Bigby. “Who elected her to spend my money?!”

Snow scoffed. “Well, I’ve been doing that unofficially for years now.”

“Unofficially is _not_ officially, sweetheart. You have no—”

“Shut the hell up, Bluebeard,” Bigby ordered, his voice rising. “The guy we elected isn’t here, and the man in his place is some fuckin’ degenerate pervert. Snow can obviously handle the Business Office. She’s done a hell of a lot more for this town than that slimy bastard ever has, _despite_ how much he’s tried to roadblock her. And yeah. I _am_ the sheriff, so that makes this _my_ fucking case. Back the fuck off.”

Snow looked down. She felt even guiltier now.

Bluebeard eyes flashed angrily, but he didn’t reply at first. “Well, excuse the fuck out of me, Sheriff, for having the commonwealth in mind.”

Snow turned around and glanced at the mirror. She sighed heavily and did her best to tame her own anger. “Alright,” she said as calmly as she could. “Let’s just look on the bright side. We know Crane is going to see the witch that’s been supplying him black-market glamours.”

“Thanks to me,” Bufkin hummed happily.

She glared at him. “ _And_ we know that he’ll be there at two. So that gives us…” She checked her watch with a grimace. “…just a few short hours to find out who it is and where they live, and then we can get them both at once.”

“A few shorter hours the more you babble about it,” Bluebeard muttered.

“Fuck off, Bluebeard,” Bigby retorted.

“ _We_ haven’t been the ones babbling,” Snow argued. She glanced at Bigby. “Since Lily used the glamours, she’d’ve known who the witch was, and I don’t think Holly’s had time to burn her things yet. Her stuff would probably have the address or phone number or _something_ that we can work with.”

Bluebeard shook his head. “And Bigby is free to rifle through a dead woman’s things if he likes, but I think the question you _should_ be asking is just what do those two Tweedles know about this!”

Snow scoffed. “It doesn’t matter what they know. After tonight, they’d never be stupid enough to go back to their office.”

“They’re not smart enough to try ‘n go anywhere else.”

“The Trip Trap is the better option to track down the witch!” Snow looked at Bigby. “That _has_ to be our focus. We don’t have time for an interrogation or a wild goose chase!”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll head to the bar.”

“I don’t really care what you two do,” Bluebeard said. “I’m going to search his apartment.”

“Whose?” Snow frowned.

“Crane’s!”

Her eyes widened. “What? No! I thought you were going to the Tweedles’ office; you can’t just go up there!”

“And why the hell not?”

“We already looked for the key, remember? I don’t know where it is!”

“Then I’ll pick the blasted lock! You’ve wasted enough time waiting for the mirror to find him. I won’t waste another second.”

“No! You—you can’t just go up there alone, alright?!” Snow snapped.

Bigby glanced at her when her voice turned shrill.

“I’ve no interest in nicking his drapes, my dear,” Bluebeard replied patronizingly, “if that’s what concerns you.”

Snow’s expression turned murderous. “What _concerns_ me is you traipsing through possible evidence.”

Bluebeard laughed bitterly. “Oh, _now_ it’s evidence. Before, you had no interest in his apartment, but now it’s a crime scene? Which is it, Miss White?”

Snow raised a hand to her eyes, her fingers shaking in rage.

Bigby suddenly realized why she didn’t want him going up there, and it made him feel like shit all over again. If that fucking weasel left incriminating photos at a public motel, what would he have hidden in his private apartment?

Bigby gave Bluebeard a deadly look. “Stay the hell out of the apartment. You’ll just mess things up more.”

Bluebeard gave another laugh. “Things can _get_ any more messed up.”

“We have to find the _witch_ , Bluebeard,” Snow said, her tone turning desperate. “ _That’s_ where he’s going. We can’t—”

“More likely, the sniveling rat chickened out, never went anywhere, and is upstairs right now in his pitiful penthouse creating a fort out of couch cushions!”

Bufkin hummed quietly. “ _That_ was a mouthful.”

“Look, this is how a smart person would do it, so this is how we’re doing it.” Bluebeard leveled a glare at the sheriff. “Pick a place, and I’ll go to the other.”

“I don’t want you going _anywhere_ unsupervised,” Snow snapped.

“Well, looks like no one has the time to babysit me, do they? Pick a place, Sheriff. Hurry up, if you please. Time _is_ of the essence.”

The look Snow gave Bigby could only be described as panicked, and he realized he didn’t really have much choice. “I’ll check out Crane’s place and then go to Holly’s.”

“Perfect,” Bluebeard smirked, marching out of the room. “And I’ll go to those two imbeciles’ office.”

The phone rang off the hook, and Snow gave Bigby a tight look. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Crane penthouse is number 1903. Let me know what you find…please.”

He nodded. Snow let the phone ring, grabbing Bigby’s arm when he tried to walk past her.

“Bigby, wait.”

He looked down at her, searching her eyes as they turned apologetic.

“Bigby, I’m…about what I said earlier…I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I…it wasn’t…”

“It’s fine, Snow. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulled gently away from her again. She watched him go with a crestfallen expression. Clearly, she’d hurt him more than she’d thought. Even still, he hadn’t hesitated to come to her defense, to shield her from further humiliation. She didn’t know what to do or say to fix the mistake she’d made—but she also knew she simply didn’t have the time to figure it out right now. She returned to Crane’s desk. Her eyes flickered to her watch anxiously, and she sighed quietly. Just a few short hours to find him before he’s beyond their reach for good.

“Damn it,” Snow muttered, searching faster. She pulled out the bottom drawer of the desk and frowned when she discovered an NYPD evidence box. She picked it up, placed it on the desk, and pulled the lid off.


	16. Chapter 16

Bigby passed through the elevator doors quickly. He grimaced at the decorative, gold latticed red wallpaper. On the top floor of the Woodlands, the _luxury_ aspect was more disgustingly apparent. He’d never had reason to come up here before; the residents on the top floor valued their privacy above all else. He regretted having to be here now. Everything felt gaudy and overly extravagant—marble floors, white wainscoting, thick columns, and hallways that were wider than most of Bigby’s apartment.

The sheriff shook his head as he rounded the corner to apartment 1903. He hesitated when he saw the doublewide twin doors already ajar.

Bigby would have been shocked if Bluebeard was actually right. Still, he stormed into the apartment, letting the doors crash against the walls.

“Crane,” he called through his teeth.

There was no sound in reply, no yelp or shuffle or anything else to indicate the man was here.

The apartment was sickeningly expensive. All the lights were turned off, but Bigby could see just as well as if the whole place had been lit up. At the end of the long, columned hall that was the foyer, an elaborately designed bust sat proudly on a pedestal. Bigby seriously considered smashing it across the marble floor when he realized it was of Crane.

Instead, he marched into the living room, scowling at the marble statues, the thick columns, the French couches, the glass doors that opened to a wide balcony with a city view. An entire wall near the back of the room was devoted to massive bookshelves that held more busts than books. A fireplace larger than Bigby’s kitchen had a thick stone mantel that held a number of treasures collected through Crane’s many years. 

Bigby was seriously fighting the urge to destroy the whole goddamn place.

The apartment was eerily quiet, and the sheriff cursed under his breath. He couldn’t smell the man’s distinctive aftershave, couldn’t hear his faintly asthmatic breaths. He wasn’t there.

“Fuck,” Bigby muttered again, his hands curling into fists.

He stepped into the study just off the living room, entering through a pair of white French doors. He searched through file cabinets, finding the deputy mayor’s bills and receipts going back decades. Some files contained letters from when he used to teach at a small schoolhouse; others were files on some of the more illustrious members of Fabletown. Nothing that related to the witch. Bigby moved on to the desk. He ransacked drawers, pulling out papers and files and tossing them haphazardly on the floor. He forced open a locked pencil drawer. Inside, a folded letter and an envelope like the one from the motel were waiting patiently. Bigby picked the envelope first, steeling himself to the contents. He was somewhat relieved to find a thick wad of cash and a short letter.

_Crooked Man,_

_This is all I could get. I’m afraid Snow will start to notice. I’ll have to get the rest for you next week._

_Ichabod Crane_

“Crooked Man,” Bigby muttered aloud to himself. He sighed heavily. “Great. Who the fuck are you?”

He tossed the envelope onto the desk and reached for the letter. Bigby’s jaw tightened as soon as he saw the address line.

_My dearest Snow,_

_I know you must be aware of my feelings towards you. Days go by with thoughts of you in my mind, of thoughts of your voice and touch and eyes. Thoughts of how you would feel and sound. Watching you work, my whole body quivers. I imagine caressing your soft skin and hearing you call my name into the night in that beautiful voice of yours. Sometimes, I catch myself right before I reach out to you. I ache to see your smile, to see you blush, to see you spread out before me. If I am unable to control myself around you, it is because I love you so deeply._

_Yours eternally,_

_Ichabod_

Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow, and he pressed his fingers into them firmly. He set the letter down as calmly as he could and rested his fist against the desk’s polished surface.

It took a moment for him to collect himself. When his eyes opened, they had returned to his usual brown. He looked down to see that a key had been hidden behind the letter. Grabbing it, Bigby slammed the drawer shut and turned to the answering machine beside the telephone. It had been blinking persistently with one new message at the edge of his vision. He quickly pressed the button and crossed his arms with difficulty.

“ _Cra-a-ne_ ,” a woman sang casually. Bigby didn’t recognize her voice. “Look,” she continued in a deeper, smokier tone. “The Crooked Man isn’t happy, and as much as I like making house calls, I have better ways to use my time. So, if you could just go ahead and pay him by Friday, that would be _great_. Alright? Everybody can stay upright. In the meantime…leave the light on, pal…See ya!”

Bigby frowned. Crane didn’t even bother coming back for the money he owed this _Crooked Man_ , whoever the hell that was. And this woman, this collector—the threat in her playful tone was undeniable. Was Crane running just from Bigby and Snow, or what he trying to escape this collector, too?

Bigby walked back through the living room. He searched shelves on the back wall, knocking books down noisily. Most of them were historical in nature or were about numerous mundy fairytales. There were multiple versions on Snow White, the Big Bad Wolf, the headless horseman—there were even a couple books on Beauty and the Beast. Bigby grimaced angrily and then flipped through the pages of each book as quickly as he could in search of loose paper or a hidden note. Each book ended up on the floor. The last row of books—the only contemporary volumes—were all sexual in nature, discussing a variety of different positions, favors, relationships. One of them was entitled _How to be the Perfect Lover_. Those spines were all cracked in multiple places. Bigby’s jaw was tight as he searched them. There were plenty of notes—Crane’s preferences written in dirty words on sticky notes—but there was nothing regarding a witch or anything even remotely close to a coded address. Bigby tossed the books down with increasing anger. He thought he was done with the last shelf when he saw a well-worn novel hidden in the back between two panels. It was another story about Snow White—an erotic romance novel with a creased spine. Bigby’s hands were shaking with rage as he flipped through that one, too. He came across many sticky notes, each pondering filthy, degrading ideas of what Crane would do to her were he the protagonist.

Bigby had to take another second to collect himself when a violent wave of anger rushed through him. His hand gripped the bookshelf as he breathed out heavily. The sheriff couldn’t afford to give himself the time he needed, so, with shaking hands and wild eyes, he moved through the living room, tearing cushions off couches and looking under tables. He flipped through magazines, opened cabinets, and searched through another desk, coming up empty each time. He found an address book inside a lamp table, but Bigby knew all the of the names in it, and no one listed was a witch.

He found the bedroom door locked and tried the key in the study. As soon as he opened the door, he saw someone with a packed duffel bag slipping out the window to the balcony.

“Hey!” Bigby called, lunging forward. He grabbed the man’s arm and yanked him back inside. As soon as he turned the man around, he scowled. “ _Jack_?”

The young man dropped the duffel bag—which crashed to the wooden floor with the clang of metal—and swept back a few long locks of blond hair that had fallen from his hair tie. “Bigby!” he laughed good-naturedly. “Wow! So good to see you! Of all the places, am I right?”

Bigby crossed his arms with a severe look.

Jack cleared his throat and glanced out at the weeping sky. “This weather, right? First it’s too humid, then it’s too damp…well, I guess both are pretty damp, but, uh…you know, some people like that sort of this, I guess! I mean—”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jack?” Bigby demanded. He realized his voice sounded more exasperated than angry, which was a decent description of his time with Jack in general.

The other man held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, okay—I know what this looks like, I do, but before you go jumping to any conclusions, Crane pays me to water his plants when he’s gone! It’s a stipend,” he added humbly, “but you know how it is these days—I need the work. I wouldn’t do it for free, right? You know me. Anyway, it’s always nice seeing you, Bigby. You look good. Great, even! Sleep deprivation really works on you. But, as you can see, the plants are watered, and I must away to my next—”

“Lotta shit in this place,” Bigby muttered. “But no plants.”

“Huh! You know, that’s funny. The thing about that is—” Jack suddenly leapt over the bed in an attempt to escape. Bigby caught him easily and slammed him against the wall. “Okay, okay, okay!” Jack exclaimed. “Sheesh! I surrender, officer, really! Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Bigby turned the man around and pinned him to the wall with his bad arm.

Jack held up his hands. “You got me, Sheriff, you got me. No need for the deadly glares. Jeez, if looks could kill, right?”

“What the _hell_ are you doing here, Jack?”

“Okay, okay—calm down, Wolfie. Easy, boy. I-I heard Crane was leaving town, alright? And I figured he owed us ‘little people’ something of a parting gift. Or…well, he owed _me_ a parting—”

“You _heard_?” Bigby demanded through his teeth. “From who?”

“It’s _whom_ , Wolfie, and I have my sources. Look at this place!” Jack said suddenly with a flicker of resentment in his eyes. “You see how he lives! C’mon, Bigby, he doesn’t need any of this shit! A little Robin Hooding never hurt anyone, right?”

Bigby glared at him. He didn’t disagree with the sentiment, and he couldn’t care less about Crane’s shit. “Did you hear anything about a witch?” he growled. “In connection with Crane, I mean. Maybe something about a ring?”

Jack’s smile had a wary edge to it. “Wolfie, are you suggesting that our dear Ichabod Crane has finally found the one?”

Bigby jerked him forward and shoved him back into the wall. “Have you _heard_ anything?”

“Wha—no! No! Christ, _easy_ , Bigby! I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…Look, I-I got bills to pay, man. I have to eat! It’s not like Crane’s gonna use any of this shit! Just—look, don’t take me in for this, Bigby. This is—”

“That seriously why you’re here?” Bigby demanded. “Crane didn’t send you?”

“ _Send_ me? Why in the hell would Crane se—no!” Jack yelled when the sheriff looked like he might hit him. “Jesus, Bigby, no! I’m just—Robin Hooding, like I said.”

Bigby grabbed Jack’s collar and threw him back into the center of the room. His eyes flashed at a stab of pain, and he reached for his shoulder with a low grunt.

Jack looked down at it with wide eyes. “Uh oh…you okay there, Wolfie?”

Bigby scowled at the blood peppering through the bandages under his shirt. “Fuck.”

“You know,” Jack mused, tucking loose locks of hair behind his ear. “This tortured, lonely, pig-eater bit’s gonna get old eventually. Don’t you ever get tired of it? I mean, what are you even doing here right now anyway, sneaking around Crane’s apartment in the middle of the night?”

“ _I’m_ investigating,” Bigby growled through his teeth. His gravelly voice was a low combination of pain and anger.

“If you say so.”

Bigby’s grimace deepened.

Jack clapped his hands together. “Well, looks like you’ve got things covered here. It was really nice catching up with you, Bigby. I miss these little chats of ours. We have to do it again soon.” Bigby blocked his exit. “Oh, uh, Wolfie, dear, I…I believe you’re just a hair in the way there, pal, if I could just…squeeze past you?” Jack squinted at the sheriff and sighed. He snapped his fingers a few times as he decided and then he smiled. “You know what? On second thought…it’s actually runny that I ran into you like this. I think I can help you out.”

“Really,” Bigby muttered dryly.

“There’s that famous sarcasm. How _does_ our fair Snow put up with you all day? The mind boggles. Alright, alright! Easy. Christ, I’m only messing around. Jesus, you’re so tense, Bigby! You need a vacation. You’re looking for Crane, obviously. And you mentioned a witch? Okay, cards on the table, Bigby, I lied before. I’m sorry about that, but I do know who you’re talking about.”

“Convenient.”

“Isn’t it? I can tell you who she is…if you’re interested, that is…”

“What the fuck do you want, Jack?” Bigby growled. “I don’t have time for your bullshit tonight.”

Jack grinned. “Straight to the point. I like that about you, Bigby. Some might say it makes you simple, but not me. I think it—okay, okay! I’m—telling you! Sheesh, calm down, would you? Christ…Look, here’s the deal. I’ll tell you who the witch is _if_ you forget you saw me here. One hand washes the other—that kind of thing. Wipe the whole incident under the rug, and we call it even. Eh?” Jack held out his hand. “Whaddaya say, pal?”

Bigby released a long, tired breath that was closer to a growl than a sigh. “Fine.”

Jack smiled and extended his hand even more. “Let’s shake on it, Bigby. Don’t worry. _I_ don’t bite.”

Bigby took his hand in a death vise and squeezed it so hard that the other man yelped. “Tell me where the witch is.”

Jack yanked his hand back and shook it out. “Quite a grip you got there, Wolfie,” he muttered. “Her name is Auntie Greenleaf. Crane’s been trying to keep her under wraps for years. I don’t know what he uses her for, but he sure doesn’t want it getting out. Since he’s not going to the thirteenth floor, I imagine it’s something naughty,” Jack added with a boyish grin.

“For your sake, Jack, I really hope you’re not lying to me.”

Jack held up three fingers. “Honestly, Sheriff, do you think I’m stupid? I have no interest in leaving this great city of ours, and I’d have to if I dared lie to the Big Bad Wolf. I’m under no illusions. Besides, we’re _friends_. I like you, Bigby—glower and all!”

“Where is she?”

Jack laughed once and looked away. “Now, you see, that’s the thing. I, uh…I don’t actually know where to find her, _per se_ , but—” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Ease up, Bigby! Look on the bright side of things for once in your miserable life. You got a name! That’s more than you came in here with! If I knew where to find her, I’d tell you! I have no need of a witch myself, but…” Jack sighed. “Tell you what, Bigby. I’ll ask around for you. If I find her, I’ll give you a call!”

“I need to find her before two.”

“ _Tonight_?” Jack coughed. “Well. That’s…I see why you’re so worked up. Hm. Well, the offer stands. I’ll keep my ear to the ground for you, Wolfie. I think this arrangement of ours is the start of a beautiful and fruitful friendship. I really do, Bigby.” Jack scooped his duffel bag up casually. “It was just lovely running into you, Sheriff. You look good. I mean that.”

“Hang on a second,” Bigby said, catching the bag when Jack tried to leave.

“Oh, come on,” the other man sighed exasperatedly.

Bigby dropped the bag on the bed and opened it. It was filled to the brim with gold candelabras and fine silverware. He rifled through it carelessly, receiving a few burns for his efforts. Jack watched him unhappily.

“Easy, Bigby,” he complained when two small, marble statuettes cracked together softly. “That’s my paycheck your clanging around in there.”

Bigby ignored him, reaching further into the bag. His fingers brushed against a wooden tube, and he pulled it out swiftly. “The white deer,” he muttered, twisting the dials around.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Do you, uh, always talk to yourself like that? No, it’s fine. It’s—it’s charming. Really. It’s an endearing quality.”

Bigby glared at him briefly.

Jack cleared his throat. “Word is, Auntie Greenleaf uses the white deer on all her stuff. It’s her signature or whatever, I guess. Figured I could sell these at the Lucky Pawn. They go in for a _pretty_ penny these days.”

“The Lucky Pawn?”

“Honestly, Bigby, do you _ever_ leave the Woodlands? It’s one of the Crooked Man’s places, over near the Trip Trap. I work there sometimes when I need some ‘stability.’ It’s a pawn shop, Bigby. A pawn shop.”

“The Crooked Man. Who is he?”

Jack huffed. “Now, _that_ , I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Easy, Bigby! I can’t say because I don’t _know_. _No one_ knows him, really. He just has odd dealings with people.”

The sheriff grimaced. “You find anymore of these glamour tubes in the apartment?”

“No,” Jack answered too quickly.

Bigby’s eyes flickered up to his. “Wanna try that again?”

“What?” Jack laughed defensively.

“Jack.”

“Fine, Sheriff. Sheesh. Nothin’ gets past you, I guess.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two more tubes. He dropped them in the sheriff’s hand with a flourish.

“This it?”

“Would I lie to you, Sheriff?”

“Funny.”

“Thank you.”

Bigby pocketed the extra two tubes and then popped off the top of the third. He dumped the contents into his palm and scowled.

“Huh,” Jack mused, peering over. “Looks kind of like your hair, Wolfie.”

Bigby unrolled the accompanying picture—something from one of Fabletown’s newspapers. The photo was very old, but the poor quality seemed to be enough for the witch. It showed the sheriff with a disgruntled expression looking past the camera at some kind of conference.

Jack frowned. “And here I was kidding...color me creeped out.”

“Bigby?” Snow called from the living room. “Are you still here?”

“We’re in here, Snow,” Bigby replied, returning the contents to the glamour tube.

Jack sighed heavily. “Fantastic.”

“We?” Snow repeated. “Who else is—” She stopped in the doorway when she saw Jack.

“Miss White!” he greeted warmly. “Good evening!”

“Good evening,” she returned so suspiciously that Jack chuckled.

“May I say that you are looking especially lovely tonight? Working a murder investigation suits you.”

“Bigby, what’s he doing here?” Snow sighed impatiently.

“Robbing the place,” Bigby shrugged, searching the duffel bag again.

“What!” Jack scoffed.

“Is that right?” Snow mused, crossing her arms.

“I thought we were friends, Bigby!”

“Really thought I’d lie to Snow?” the sheriff muttered. Jack rolled his eyes dramatically as Bigby determined there was nothing else in the bag of any interest. He looked at Snow and crossed his arms. “He gave me the witch’s name. It’s—”

“Really?” Snow gasped eagerly. “What is it?”

Bigby resisted the urge to smile at her habit. “Greenleaf.”

“ _Auntie_ Greenleaf,” Jack corrected.

“But he doesn’t know where she is.”

“Great,” Snow sighed.

Jack shook his head. “Do neither of you appreciate little victories? You have a name!”

Snow grimaced and checked her watch. “Crane’s meeting her in a couple hours, but…this does get us one step closer. Thank you, Jack.”

“You’re _welcome_ , Miss White. See, Bigby? Little gratitude never hurt anyone.”

“I’m not arresting you, am I?” Bigby muttered dryly.

Jack smiled. “And they say you have no sense of humor. They don’t know you like I do, Bigby.”

“Snow,” Bigby said, turning to her. “I also found a note with some money attached to it. Crane’s been embezzling from Fabletown to pay off some guy named the Crooked Man.”

Snow stared at him for a minute, and then she scoffed. “Of course. Of course he has! Why half-ass being a complete sleazeball.” She didn’t miss the dark look in the sheriff’s eyes. “Was there something else?”

“No,” he decided. “Nothing relevant.”

She knew he was lying, and she considered pressing him. “Okay,” she murmured instead. “Crane’s meeting Greenleaf at two, and we still don’t know where she is. We’re cutting it close as it is.”

“I’ll head over to Holly's,” Bigby nodded.

“Good, then we can—” Snow spotted something across the room. Her expression froze. She walked between the king-sized bed and the closet to pick up a frame off the nightstand.

Bigby could see it clearly over her shoulder.

It was a beautiful picture. It must have been from some kind of fundraiser; she didn’t dress so formally for anything else. She’d donned a long, tasteful gown of ocean blue that matched her eye color perfectly. She was laughing with several other guests, her white teeth contrasting sharply with the red lipstick she wore. Her head was thrown back, her eyes crinkling—it was the kind of genuine laugh she only gave on rare occasions. The picture was taken too stealthily to be casual; she was clearly unaware of the photographer, as was everyone else in the picture.

“He kept this by his…?” Snow’s disturbed tone petered off before she finished.

“Well, now that’s just creepy,” Jack muttered uncomfortably.

Snow stared at the picture a moment longer and then tossed it on the bed. She bent over and began rifling through Crane’s nightstand drawers.

“Snow,” Bigby warned. He was honestly afraid of what she’d find. “We don’t have time to—”

She pulled on a locked drawer a couple times unsuccessfully and then looked back at the sheriff. “Open it.”

“No, Snow,” Bigby said, shaking his head.

“Bigby, open it.”

The sheriff held her gaze. “I don’t think this is a good idea, Snow. You don’t need to see any more than you already—”

“ _Open_ it,” she repeated sternly. She glanced away and added more softly, “Please, Bigby.”

“For the record,” Jack interjected, “I have to agree with Wolfie here. In my experience, locked beside-table drawers are just big fat no-nos. They’ve got all kinds of weird stuff. And naughty stuff. And sometimes dirty stuff. Usually all three, so why don’t we just scamper off before we're all scarred for life, eh?”

“I can’t open it myself,” Snow said, looking directly at the sheriff. “I’m asking you to open it.”

“Snow,” he pleaded. “Don't make me—”

“I need to know, Bigby. Open the nightstand. Please.”

Bigby’s jaw tightened. His expression hardened, and he reached past her. He gripped the table’s drawer and pulled it back so hard that it broke off the nightstand entirely. He dropped it on the bed and stepped back.

There was another envelope at the bottom of the drawer. A box of tissues and a little blue tube with a torn-off label were resting atop it. Snow pulled them out and dropped them on the bed. She realized her fingers were shaking a little as she grabbed the envelope, and she forced herself to appear firmer.

“Snow,” Bigby begged a final time. “Don’t.”

She ignored him and opened the flap.

Jack watched with an exaggerated look of caution. Part of him was tempted to bolt, but his curiosity won out.

Snow’s heart was hammering as she pulled the thick stack of photos out. The first was of Snow walking through the entrance to the Woodlands in a periwinkle blouse. Her jacket was thrown over her arm casually to reveal her bare shoulders. Odd as it was, Snow remembered the day; Bigby had complimented the color of her blouse in passing—a rare occurrence that had stayed with her without her even realizing it.

The second photo included the sheriff. They were both walking down the street together. Snow was talking animatedly about something. The photo caught her with her hands raised, explaining something as she laughed. Again, Bigby had a rare, soft smile as he watched the ground. It felt like another pure admission. Snow felt a defensive flicker—a desire to protect the sheriff—so she quickly moved onto the next picture before Jack commented on it.

She regretted her haste immediately. The image made her freeze.

“Jesus, Bigby!” Jack choked, his voice so sincere and disturbed that it was unrecognizable. “What the _fuck_?!”

Bigby’s eyes were wide. The blood had drained from his face as his lips parted in shock.

Jack suddenly doubted his own eyes until he remembered the glamour tube with Bigby’s hair and photo. “What the fuck,” he breathed again, swallowing audibly.

Snow’s hands began to shake as she took in the photo. A glamoured Snow was, for all appearances, being savagely assaulted by a fake Bigby. Lily’s hands— _Snow’s_ hands—were gripping the bedposts her wrists were tied to, and she was crying—whether the tears were real or part of some twisted fantasy was unclear. The fake Bigby was biting her neck, his clothed body pressed against her. Her skirt—the kind of pencil skirt Snow always wore to work—was gathered at her hips. The fake Bigby’s fingers were pressed so tightly into the fake Snow’s thighs that his nails made her bleed.

“What the _fuck_?!” Jack repeated loudly as he finally digested the image. “Wait—s-so, Crane has been…Is _that_ what the glamour—is that what he’s going to the witch for?! Glamours t-to…to…This is…I’ve…” Jack shook his head, his own face ashen. “This is…”

Bigby felt sick, and he suddenly recalled Georgie’s comments at the club. Was _this_ how people saw him? An abuser? A _rapist_? Was this the kind of monster they thought he was? Was this what they thought he was capable of?

Snow’s fingers were shaking more violently as she moved onto the next picture, and she released a dismayed gasp.

Bigby saw a flash of milky skin—far too much of her pale skin—and he looked away. He pressed a hand to the wall when his eyes flashed yellow, struggling to control the first threshold.

“Whoa, e-easy, Bigby,” Jack said, stepping back once. “Don’t—go all Wolfie on us.”

Snow barely heard him. Her eyes traveled down the erotic photo, disbelief closing her lungs. She was completely naked in this one for the first time, her own fingers pressed between her legs. Crane—as himself this time—was sitting in a chair opposite the bed with a red face and heavy-lidded eyes, his own hand clasping himself as he watched.

Snow glanced up at the bottle on the bed, and realization hit her like a hammer.

The photos fell from her fingers. She tried to make it out of the room. Bile rose from her stomach in a wave, burning its way up her throat. She tried to swallow it back down, but it burst out of her, and she threw up all over the floor. Her knees gave out. She would have fallen if Bigby hadn’t caught her. He grunted at the way his sore shoulder flashed in pain, and he switched arms to keep her on her feet. Snow gasped, pressing a hand to her stomach, and she threw up again violently.

“Jesus!” Jack cried, his voice alarmed. “M-Miss White, are you alright?!”

Snow panted and brought a hand to her mouth. She groaned, and a strangled sob burst through her lungs before she could catch it. She swallowed down another wave of acid, shaming burning through her like wildfire. “Oh God,” she gasped thickly through her fingers. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

Bigby’s fingers tightened on her. “Snow,” he breathed in an agonized voice.

“Shit,” Snow gasped shakily. Another wave of nausea swept over her. She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned quietly as she fought it off, but her mind kept flashing to awful images of what Crane did with those pictures.

Jack swallowed and edged away. “M-Miss White, are you—”

“I’m fine,” she said in a tight voice. She found her legs and pulled away from the sheriff, humiliation gripping her. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.” She wiped her mouth and smoothed down the front of her clothes before she rested her fingers against her lips. She turned around slowly, staring at the photos she’d dropped. Dozens of explicit images of her and Bigby, her and Crane, or just her. She closed her eyes tightly, shakily struggling against another wave of nausea. “I’m sorry,” she repeated when she was able.

“Snow,” Bigby whispered again.

She raised a pale fingers to her forehead. “You were right, Bigby,” she mumbled in a thick voice, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have…” She released a quiet breath. “We don’t have time for this. Go to Holly’s. We need that address.”

He stared at her, his expression growing as tortured as his tone. “Snow, let me—”

“I’m fine,” she said again, though she couldn’t bring herself to lower her hand from her mouth. “I just—please, Bigby. We need to find him.”

He searched her eyes before he slowly nodded.

“Jack,” Snow murmured. It took every ounce of strength she had to meet his eye. “Please, don’t—”

“I-I’m not gonna say a word,” he interrupted. “T-to anyone. Jesus Christ, this is so fucked up, Miss White.”

“Thank you,” she said before swallowing. “Bigby, please, go to Holly’s bar. We don’t have time to waste. Call me if you find anything. Please.”

“Come…come with me,” he pleaded. He couldn’t leave her in this fucking apartment.

“I need to—” Snow closed her eyes and stopped when another roll of nausea threatened to make her sick again. She turned her back on the photos, and when she spoke again, her voice was strangled. “I need to go to the Business Office, search through the records for someone with her name or alias in case you don’t find anything at Holly’s. I’m fine. I’m sorry.” She checked her watch. “Please, Bigby. We don’t have time.”

“Al…alright, Snow,” he breathed, his eyebrows pulling together. “I…I’m not going to let him get away with this. I promise.”

He walked past her and went back through the apartment slowly. Jack followed him with his duffel bag clenched in one fist. When the reached the hallway outside the apartment, Bigby grabbed Jack’s collar and slammed him against the wall so hard that it made the drywall crack beneath the wallpaper.

The look in his yellow eyes was so terrifying that Jack bit back whatever comment he might have otherwise made.

“If you say one _fucking_ word—”

“I won’t say anything, Bigby, I swear,” Jack said quickly. His eyes were wide and honest. “Jesus fucking…that…that was so fucked up. I-I didn’t realize Crane was…I mean…Jesus _Christ_ , Bigby! What the fuck! I-I-I knew the guy had issues, but a fucking…a f-fucking…Jesus, Bigby! Did he kill those girls?!”

“Not a fucking word,” Bigby said, his voice shaking with rage. “To _anyone_.”

“I-I swear, Bigby; I-I wouldn’t do that to her. That’s—this is fucked up enough without everyone fucking talking about it.”

Bigby released Jack roughly. He hit the elevator button so hard that Jack honestly thought it might break. Jack watched him with wide eyes and decided he’d take the next one down.

Bigby’s eyes were still yellow when he stepped into the elevator. He hit the button so hard that the elevator shook a little. As soon as the doors closed again, he pressed one hand to the wall and the other to his eyes. He pants through his teeth, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to regain control.

He didn’t know what would happen when they found Crane, but he wanted to fucking kill him.


	17. Chapter 17

It was just after one when Bigby got out of the cab and took the steps down to the Trip Trap. Rain was falling more heavily now, dripping off his hair ceaselessly. His shirt quickly soaked through, despite the short walk to the overhanging archway.

The door had a large _Closed_ sign up, as well as smaller note that added _Due to Bereavement._

Inside, Bigby could hear someone laughing hysterically and someone else talking to him quietly.

“She’s still asleep, ya fuckin’ idiot,” Gren drawled lazily when he stopped laughing. His words were slurred, but the sheriff wasn’t sure if it was medication or alcohol that made him sound so sluggish.

“She didn’t even give me a chance to explain,” Woody complained quietly.

“What’s left to explain?” Gren wondered in a more serious voice.

“I’d like a chance to defend—”

“Just shut the fuck up, okay?”

Bigby knocked on the door lightly.

“We’re closed!” Gren hollered, his words even thicker.

“It’s Bigby,” the sheriff called. “C’mon, Gren, open up. I gotta talk to Holly.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the door, and then it slowly swung open. Gren peered out blearily, his lids heavy.

He chuckled when he recognized the sheriff. “Well, hey, look who it is, Woody. Good ol’ Sheriff Wolf. C’mon in, buddy.”

“Gren,” Woody warned.

“What?” the man snapped in reply. “He’s a traveler. A weary traveler in search of some…hospitality on this stormy night, right? I mean, you must not be feelin’ too good after that shitshow back at the bridge.”

“Yeah…look, I’ll only be here two minutes,” Bigby replied. “I just need to check through Lily’s things.”

Gren chuckled and shrugged. “Sure, whatever, Sheriff. C’mon in. C’mon.” He gestured to the bar dramatically, stumbling once.

Bigby grimaced and squeezed past him in the narrow hall. Gren closed and locked the door again before staggering past the sheriff to his stool. Woody looked back at Bigby anxiously before he continued his nervous pacing.

“I wanna drink,” Gren announced after a brief silence. “Anybody else wanna fuckin’ drink? Sheriff? Don’t think anyone’s ever looked like they needed a goddamned drink more’n you do.”

“Gren,” Woody warned again. “Swineheart said you shouldn’t mix alcohol with—”

The other man interrupted him with a derisive snort. He leaned over the counter a little clumsily to reach for a bottle and glass. “You think I give a fuck what that fuckin’ guy says? Or what _you_ say?”

“Gren, really. You shouldn’t be drinking right now.”

“Where’s Holly?” Bigby asked, reaching up absently to rub his throbbing shoulder.

“She’s asleep in back,” Woody answered. “You won’t be able to wake her, though.”

“Why?”

“Doc gave them both Barmecidal ambrosia…for the pain.”

Bigby blinked. “Well…shit.”

Gren almost fell off his stool. His fingers glanced off the bottle—just out of reach. “Look,” he mumbled as he struggled, “deal is…it’ll knock you on your ass. _But_ , if you resist goin’ to sleep…like I am right now…it gives you a very, very, _very_ nice high.”

Woody frowned at him disapprovingly. “ _And_ he said that you shouldn’t mix it with alcohol.”

Gren gave up and climbed over the counter. He nearly fell before he caught himself at the last moment. “Yes, he did,” he agreed, knocking his glass to the floor. “Whoops—he certainly did say that, but lemme tell you somethin’…I haven’t felt _this_ good in a long time, fat boy.”

“Have you seen her sister’s things?” the sheriff asked gruffly, glancing at the clock on the wall. “What wasn’t burned at the funeral, I mean. It’s important.”

“Nope!” Gren hummed, searching for another glass. “Haven’t seen it.”

Woody sighed and shook his head. “I saw her come in with a box or something, but I didn’t see where she put it.”

Gren climbed back over the counter with difficulty. He laid three glasses in a questionable line and filled up the first. He threw a shot back with a gasp and then filled all three glasses up. “That funeral back there?” he muttered. “That was a shitty fuckin’ sendoff for a pretty okay lady.”

“Yeah,” Woody mumbled, looking down.

Gren glared at him. “You weren’t fuckin’ there. I’m talkin’ to Bigby now, okay?” He threw another shot back. “Can’t say you bein’ there helped things much, though…”

Woody frowned. “Gren, don’t start nothin’.”

“Who’s startin’ anythin’? He ain’t a fuckin’ pit bull, chompin’ at the bit or whatever. He’s fine. I’m fine. Everyone’s just fuckin’ fine.”

“Sorry about what happened back there,” Bigby offered quietly.

“They got away though, didn’t they?” Gren asked rhetorically before waving his hand. “Whatever, it’s alright. I’m too outta it to get into it. I wanna clear the air. Bygones ‘n whatever. We’re all in this dungheap of a fuckin’ shit town together, ‘n so we’re all gonna have a fuckin’ toast. All’a us.”

Bigby sighed quietly. “Fellas,” he said, trying to maintain his patience. “I just need to look through Lily’s things. I—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, I know,” Gren said, dismissing him with another wave. “I heard you, ‘n I wanna help, okay? And I will…but first, indulge me. It’ll take two seconds. As a show of good faith…and after, we’ll all hunt ‘n peck for Lily’s shit or whatever.”

Woody crossed his arms. “Gren, Bigby didn’t come here to get loaded with you.”

“I don’t wanna get loaded with him,” Gren groaned. “God, it’s just a quick fuckin’ slug.”

“I’m running out of time, Gren,” Bigby said slowly, his eyes on the clock. “I need her stuff now.”

Gren shrugged indifferently. He threw his drink back and then downed the other two. He blinked languidly as he finished and staggered forward a step. One of the glasses fell from his hand and shattered across the wooden floor. He frowned at it dully. “Whoops.”

Woody jumped up. “Gren, the doc said you need to rest! You—”

Gren pulled his fist back and hit him as hard as he could. Despite his intoxication, it was a pretty damn hard punch. “How many fuckin’ times you gonna fuckin’ _warn_ me about it, huh?!” he shouted. “You’re not my fuckin’ mother, so just get off my fuckin’ back!”

Woody rubbed his jaw and glared at the other man. “I _said_ I was _sorry_ , alright?! I can’t do anything about it! It’s _done_!” He shoved Gren back into Bigby. Gren flew right back at him, and Woody wrapped his massive hands around the other man’s throat.

Bigby grabbed Woody’s shoulder and pushed him back. He put himself between them. “The fuck’s with you two?” he demanded irritably.

Gren threw his hands up. “Oh, I fuckin’ forgot! You haven’t heard the news! This walkin’ lard cake was payin’ Holly’s sister to let him _fuck_ her! Behind _all our backs_! Holly had to find out goin’ through all her sister’s shit! What _fun_ that must’a been. Trick after trick’a this fat fuck ‘n Lily.”

“I didn’t plan for that!” the Woodsman yelled. “And our thing…whatever it was, it wasn’t a big deal! It wasn’t!” he added, looking at Bigby anxiously. “I _never_ fucked her when she was Snow! I didn’t even know she was doin’ that!”

“No,” Gren argued, “but you sure as shit knew Holly would flip out, ‘n you knew for a damned good fuckin’ reason, you piece of _shit_!”

“You know what?” Woody snarled. “Fuck this. I don’t need this shit.” He pushed past Gren roughly and headed for the door.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it, now _you’re_ teary-eyed. You were always such a fuckin’ lowlife. I dunno why I never realized it ‘til now. Sheriff, what do you think’a this fuckin’ loser?”

Woody glanced back bitterly. “He can think whatever he wants. I don’t give a shit.”

“No, that’s okay,” Gren bit back, “’cause I’ll tell you what he thinks. _He_ thinks you have to _pay_ chicks to touch your fat, hairy ass—that’s what he thinks.”

“Would you two just give it a rest?” Bigby snapped. “You wanna know what I think? Whatever happened was between them, and Lily’s _dead_ , so let’s just put this whole thing to rest, alright?”

The Woodsman looked at Bigby in surprise.

Gren snorted, stumbling back into his chair. “You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if he’d fucked her when she was Snow, would you?”

“I never did!” Woody shouted desperately. “I didn’t know she was even fuckin’ doin’ that! I never would’a—”

“Just—calm the fuck down,” Bigby ordered. “Both of you. Gren—”

“I dunno where Lily’s shit is, okay?” Gren mumbled, his eyelids falling heavily again. “Check Holly’s backroom. I dunno. But I wouldn’t wake her, ‘f I was you. Sleepwalkers ‘n trolls…That’s…I think that’s the rule. Maybe, uh…ogres, too.”

“I thought you said you’d help me look.”

“Actually, Bigby…if you’ll excuse me, it…seems that I’m gonna pass out now…What a day…huh, Sheriff? What a fuckin’…day…” Gren’s head fell to his arms, and he grew limp against the counter.

Bigby sighed heavily and walked to the back door. Holly was still out of glamour, her troll body too tall for the narrow cot she was sleeping on. Her torso was bandaged thickly, but Bigby could still see crimson blotting through the gauze. She muttered something indistinct in her sleep, rolling her head as the sheriff entered.

Bigby doubted the woman would be especially pleased to see him in the room if she woke, but he didn’t have time to wait for permission. He saw the box under the cot, but Holly’s arm was draped across it, her massive fingers on the floor before it protectively.

“Holly?” the sheriff tried. “Holly.”

She snored softly and frowned in her sleep. She rolled a little. Her arm moved up away from the box, and she hummed quietly. Bigby sighed and knelt beside her to pull the box out. The scent of copper clung to her, but it fortunately didn’t smell fresh. He lifted the box to the desk behind Holly, moving quietly so he didn’t disturb her. He pulled the lid off and peered inside. A few things were scattered within: a photo, a notebook, a bottle of wine, a glamour tube, and the brooch Snow had returned.

Holly hummed again in her sleep, and her head turned in Bigby’s direction. “Mm…that you, Woody?”

“No, Holly,” the sheriff answered quietly. “It’s me. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’m just here to look through Lily’s things.”

Holly frowned dully. “Bigby?” she mumbled without opening her eyes. “Mm…bar’s closed…and…’scuse me, but…I’m not in the mood for entertainin’. But…what the fuck,” she sighed. “I know you’re not gonna leave. You do what you want…you always do what you want…”

Bigby looked down and away. He pulled the small photo out of the box. Faith, Nerissa, and Lily. It was a bit of a shock to see Nerissa so happy when he’d only ever known her sad eyes. All three were grinning wildly into the camera, their teeth gleaming from the camera’s bright flash. Bigby looked at Faith’s emerald eyes, frowning faintly. She looked different in this picture, too. Happier, he supposed. They all did. In the dark corner of the photo, Bigby saw one of the Tweedles glaring daggers at the girls’ backs.

“Do you even give a shit about us?” Holly wondered softly. “The strays, I mean…the ones that aren’t in that…fancy high-rise…those’a that gotta work for a livin’…”

Bigby picked up the glamour tube, unlocking it slowly. “Holly…just…because I live in the Woodlands, that doesn’t mean I’m not one of your ‘strays.’ I’m not Crane or Cole. I didn’t exactly grow up wearing clothes.”

“Yeah,” Holly sighed in agreement. “Yeah, I know you didn’t.” Her head lolled to one side again, and she hummed.

Snow’s hair and another picture of her were inside the tube. Bigby’s expression darkened, and he reached for the notebook.

“Why’d you even come here?” Holly asked. “There’s nothin’ to investigate here…I can’t be of any use to ya…Lily’s already…”

Bigby’s flipped through the pages quietly. “I need to, uh…I need to look through your sister’s things, Holly,” he repeated softly.

“For clues?”

“For an address.”

“Hm…”

The notebook was filled with names. Lily had hundreds of contacts, all of them listed with simple initials. Bigby flipped through pages swiftly, scanning the initials as fleetingly as he could.

“Be honest, Sheriff…why you goin’ after him? The guy that killed Lily…you could’a quit a long time ago, but…you’re still goin’. You don’t look like…like you’ve slept or eaten or…nothin’. Why’re you…goin’ through all this…effort?”

“For Faith,” Bigby answered quietly. “For Snow. For your sister and Nerissa and anyone else that might get caught up in this shitshow.”

Holly breathed out slowly. “Mm…that’s…more comforting than you might think. Just remember…whatever bullshit excuse you tell yourself…I’m countin’ on you. So…don’t have any more fuck-ups…okay?”

Bigby flipped another page, and then he breathed out quietly. “Got you,” he muttered, staring at the _AG_ scrawled across the entry. He ripped the page out just as the phone up front rang loudly. The machine picked it up almost immediately.

“Hello, this is Snow White calling. I’m looking for Bigby…Is anyone there? Bigby, if you’re there, please pick up, okay?”

Bigby went behind the counter and pulled the receiver off the hook quickly. “Snow, I got it.”

“What?” she gasped.

“Her address was with Lily’s things. “It’s on, uh…White Plains Avenue. 1284. I know the place. It’s an apartment complex in Brookhaven.”

“Thank God,” Snow breathed. “I’ll meet you there! Good work, Bigby. The meeting’s taking place in a few minutes. We have to hurry!”

“See you there, Snow. We got him.”


	18. Chapter 18

Bigby stormed down the hallway in search of the right apartment. It was fifteen minutes past two, and he was glaring at each number he passed.

Snow was running up the stairs quickly and loudly, her heels clacking against the tiled steps. She’d seen Bigby enter just as her taxi had come down the street. She caught up with him when he was halfway down the hall.

“Bigby!” she called breathlessly. He glanced back at her. “I just got here.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s apartment 331. Haven’t reached it yet.”

“We’re late,” Snow panted, checking her watch again.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied unhappily, his pace brutally fast. “This is it,” he suddenly said, stopping so fast Snow almost ran into him.

She nodded briskly, smoothing down the front of her blazer. “Alright, how do you want to do this?”

_Want to_? He wanted to kick down the goddamn door.

Instead, he moved closer to it, focusing past the sounds from all the other apartments.

“Hear anything?” Snow whispered softly, a hard edge to her expression.

Bigby shook his head. “If anyone’s in there, they’re being awfully quiet.”

The sheriff pulled his hand back and pounded on the door. He didn’t mean to do it quite as hard as he did, but the door rattled in its frame. If Crane _had_ been inside, he would’ve expected the little shit to yelp. Instead, the apartment remained utterly quiet. “Sheriff’s department!” he called, banging on it again. “I’m gonna need you to open up right now.”

Snow glanced at him briefly and then glared ahead, waiting impatiently. She was on the verge of telling him to just kick it in when the doorknob turned slowly.

It swung open a tiny crack, and Bigby’s and Snow’s eyes fell to a little girl barely half their heights. Her black hair was parted in careful pigtails, and her yellow pajamas were wrinkled from sleep. Bigby and Snow exchanged a look as their expressions softened a little.

“Hi,” Snow said in surprise.

“You woke me up,” the little girl hummed, rubbing one of her eyes with a small fist. 

“Uh…sorry about that,” Snow grimaced. She shot Bigby an uncertain look.

“Is something wrong?” the girl wondered with a yawn. She peered up at Bigby, her large, golden eyes heavy with sleep.

Bigby blanked for a split second. “Uh…pardon the intrusion,” he offered. “I, uh, wasn’t aware this was a munchkin’s house.”

The little girl narrowed her eyes playfully. “Well, _Dorothy_ , it isn’t.”

Snow snorted despite herself. “Sharp kid.”

The girl giggled happily.

“Who, uh…” Bigby glanced at snow. “Who are you?” he asked the girl in a soft tone.

“Rachel,” she replied easily, opening the door a little wider. “Who are you? Just so we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I’m Bigby. This is Snow.”

“Pleased to meet you! How do you do? Is there, um…is there something you need?”

“Is, uh…” Bigby glanced at Snow again. Under different circumstances, she knew she would’ve smiled at his uncertainty. “Is your mother at home…currently?”

Rachel frowned and crossed her arms. “I don’t _need_ a babysitter! I can cook dinner all by myself,” she boasted.

Snow and Bigby exchanged another look. The sheriff knelt to be at eye level with the girl. “Does Auntie Greenleaf live here?”

“That’s my mommy!”

Bigby glanced over her shoulder into the darkened home. “She ever, you know, make the nightstand levitate? Turn frogs into cats? That kind of thing?”

Snow did smile this time. “Is she a witch, dear,” she translated.

“Oh no, I would never ever call my mommy that!” Rachel replied innocently. “She treats me alright.”

Bigby glanced into the apartment again. He couldn’t hear anyone else inside. “Rachel, do you mind if I just take a quick peek around?”

“We’ll be _very_ quick,” Snow added, “and he won’t touch anything.”

They didn’t wait for permission. The sheriff stood and walked past the girl into the apartment as his expression hardened again. Rachel watched in horror as Snow followed him in. She closed the door swiftly and ran after them into the low-lit living room.

“I’ve been here all night!” she exclaimed a little shrilly. “Nobody’s here!”

Bigby glanced down at her, his eyes narrowing a little.

Rachel gave a sigh too heavy for her young age. “Okay, Sheriff,” she said slowly. Bigby’s eyes flickered to Snow’s. She frowned, too. “I’m gonna trust you not to break anything. Just _don’t_ get me into trouble! My mommy doesn’t like people coming inside.”

“We’ll, uh…be quick, Rachel. Don’t worry,” Bigby mumbled.

Under other circumstances, Snow might have followed up with a quip wondering if he’s ever actually _met_ a kid before, but she was too angry and shaken to think so lightly.

“What are we looking for?” she asked instead in a serious tone.

“Crane,” he replied, his voice turning into a growl on the name. “He could still be here. Hiding.”

He headed into the living room. The little girl moved to stand in front of a desk near the hall. She watched him almost anxiously as he searched.

His eyes skirted around the room for signs of upheaval, anything that might have suggested the weasel had been in here, but he gestured to the record player to put the girl at ease. “Lemme guess…big band or classical?”

Rachel smirked and shook her head, folding her hands behind her back. “Honky Tonk.”

Bigby made a face. “Hm. No accounting for taste,” he muttered under his breath.

Rachel scowled at the back of his head.

A picture on the wall caught the sheriff's eye. Rachel was standing beside a much older woman with gray hair and thin glasses. He waved at it vaguely as he passed. “That your mom?”

“Uh huh,” Rachel sighed disinterestedly.

Bigby sniffed the air with a grimace, but the scent was too mild to know for sure how recent it was. He passed a furnace in the middle of the room. Rachel was still watching him like a hawk, so he nudged his chin at it. “Pretty rare to see a burner like this,” he offered, looking behind the couch.

“Dowdy,” the girl hummed. “That’s how we like it.”

Snow closed a closet door and looked at the deer skull over the furnace. “Does your mother hunt?”

“Wha—no!” Rachel exclaimed, offended. “She’d _never_! That was found in the woods around Dix Mountain!” Rachel glanced away. “Um…I think.”

Bigby saw a curtain draped from one wall to another, obscuring an entire corner of the room. As soon as he reached up to take it down, he heard the little girl’s heartbeat pick up.

“Be careful with that,” she warned in a falsely sweet voice.

Bigby let the curtain fall and took a step back. A massive, thick tree was planted in an enormous pot. It took up the entire bay window, its branches twisting and pressing against the ceiling. It was obviously precious to the witch. It was in better condition than anything else in the home.

“What is this?” the sheriff asked, his tone a little gruff. 

“Mommy uses it to carve her trinkets. It’s from the old world, but I think it’s silly,” Rachel replied. Her tone was indifferent enough to be convincing. He might've even believed her on its insignificance if her heart wasn’t thudding so fast.

“Trinkets?” Snow repeated. “What kind of trinkets?”

Rachel looked at her and then shrugged. “I dunno. She doesn’t let me play with them,” she added in a pout.

Bigby sighed heavily. “Not here,” he muttered under his breath.

“There’s no one here but me,” Rachel replied. Bigby passed her and headed down the hallway. The girl huffed indignantly and stamped her foot. “No one’s been over _all night_ , so—”

“He’s just going to check,” Snow smiled, standing beside the girl. “I’ll wait with you. It’ll only take a moment, Rachel.”

Bigby checked behind a partition in the hall, his temper rising with every minute. “There’s nothing in this godda—in this apartment that looks like Crane was ever here.”

“Nothing?” Snow breathed, disappointment weighing her voice down.

“See?” Rachel said smugly.

“I’ll keep looking,” Bigby said with a harder edge to his tone. “He _had_ to come here.”

Rachel sighed again. “How much longer do you think you’ll be?” she complained. “I’m tired. I wanna go back to bed.”

“Just a few more minutes, honey,” Snow answered tightly.

Bigby wrenched open a closet door and a bathroom. He tossed aside the shower curtain angrily and closed the door harder than necessary.

“Where do you buy your clothes?” Rachel wondered.

“At a store?” Snow replied uncertainly.

“ _Oh_. My mommy makes all of _mine_.”

Bigby pulled open another closet door. He was on the verge of closing it again when a box on the floor caught his eye. It was delivered to Auntie Greenleaf from simply “The Butcher,” but it was the stamped symbol on the flap that gave the sheriff pause. A man was laced—arms and legs bent unnaturally—through the spokes of a wheel.

“A crooked man,” he mumbled under his breath. He frowned at the sender again. “The Butcher.”

“What’s that?” Snow called quietly.

“A package from someone called ‘the Butcher.’ It’s got a—” Bigby glanced at the little girl. She cocked her head, waiting with innocent eyes. “—an interesting symbol,” he finished, giving Snow a meaningful look. She frowned and nodded once.

Bigby turned around and opened the last two doors. One was a woman’s room, full of old furnishings and trinkets. He checked under the bed and in the closet. The windows were locked from the inside, the sills dry. Rain pounded against the panes, but he couldn’t see any evidence of them being opened during the last several hours. He closed the door sharply and moved on to the next one, but it was locked.

He glanced down the hall to the others. “This your room, Rachel?” he asked in an even tone.

Rachel smiled and nodded. “Mommy gave me a key. It’s _my_ apartment. She’s not allowed in.”

“Can I have the key?”

Rachel frowned at him. “A lady’s bedroom is very private,” she reprimanded.

“Please, Rachel? I…won’t touch anything. I just need to check.”

“I was just in there. There’s no one else here.”

Bigby surprised Snow with the gentle look he gave the girl, despite the tension that curled his hands into fists. “Snow and I are here on official business. You’d be helping the sheriff’s department if you let us take a look inside.”

Rachel twisted her mouth and chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. “Oh, alright,” she decided. She reached into her pajama pocket and produced the key. “Have a look, Sheriff.”

“Thanks, Rachel,” he said quietly, heading down the hall.

The little girl’s room was surprisingly clean—oddly so. He frowned at the neatly made bed before he dropped to the floor to check under it. The closet contained only a few dresses. He moved them aside, but the closet was otherwise empty. Like her mother's, Rachel's windows were locked from the inside, the windowsills completely dry.

He stepped back in the hallway, leaving the key in the lock. “Goddamn it,” he muttered through his teeth, raising a hand to his eyes.

“Shouldn’t say that…” Rachel mumbled quietly.

“Nothing?” Snow repeated in dismay.

Bigby glared at the wall bitterly and shook his head. “I keep getting whiffs of that goddamn aftershave of his,” he snarled.

“That’s a bad word…”

Snow looked down. “I do, too.”

Rachel rubbed her eyes with a wide yawn. “Can I go back to bed now? Please?”

Snow turned around, and Rachel started to escort her to the door. Bigby realized she’d been blocking the desk—more specifically, what was on it. A wooden glamour tube waited for Greenleaf to return to it. All manner of tools and delicate carving knives rested along the table in neat, orderly lines.

“Snow,” Bigby said. “This is where she makes them.”

Rachel whipped around. “Mommy _really_ doesn’t let anyone play with that! Trust me; I’ve tried.”

Bigby picked the glamour up off the table.

Rachel gasped loudly. “Oh, no, no, no, no! Please, please, please, just put that back _exactly_ where you found it!” she shrieked urgently. “No one is allowed to play with those!”

Snow caught the girl when she tried to fling herself towards Bigby. She knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her back. “It’s alright, honey. Bigby’s not going to break it. He’ll be very careful.”

“No, no, no, you don’t _understand_!” the girl cried, wringing her hands. “Mommy will _freak out_ if she discovers I let people in here and let them touch her stuff, okay?! She checks all the time to see if things move! I don’t wanna get into trouble! Please, Sheriff, please, please, please, just put it back _exactly_ where it was!”

“I’m not gonna break it,” Bigby promised softly. “I just wanna open it.”

“ _No_!” Rachel shrieked, reaching for him again. Snow caught the girl once more as the room gave a subtle shudder. “Put it down, _please_! Don’t! Th-this isn’t what you think!” Rachel struggled violently against Snow. “You gotta believe me! That guy isn’t here! I promise!”

“It’s alright—Rachel,” Snow grunted, struggling to restrain her.

Bigby frowned at the girl’s reaction as he twisted the dials into place.

“Please! I’m begging you! I-I don’t wanna…I don’t want get into trouble!”

The top popped off. Before Bigby could look inside, the room shuddered again, and then a bright green light exploded. The little girl gave a shrill scream. The force of the spell knocked Snow to her knees. Bigby pulled her up and stepped in front of her as he stared at the little girl.

Or, who _had been_ the little girl. In her place was a thin old woman with gray hair and glasses. Her expression contorted into a pained grimace as she scowled at the sheriff.

“Auntie Greenleaf,” Snow gasped.

The witch turned her glare to her. “It _hurts_ when you do it that fast,” she complained.

Snow crossed her arms, and Bigby’s expression became murderously angry.

“What?” Greenleaf demanded, crossing her arms as she stared the sheriff down. “Not spritely enough? Tits not perky anymore? What’s your problem?”

“You picked the wrong fuckin’ night to pull this shit,” Bigby said through his teeth. “No more lying, no more bullshit non sequiturs. You’re gonna tell me what I want to know _right now_.”

“Am I?”

Bigby’s eyes flashed. “You think we have time to waste on your _bullshit_? You think this is some kind’a fuckin’ _game_?”

“No,” Greenleaf replied indifferently, ignoring the tremor of rage in the sheriff’s voice. “I don’t. But congratulations on winning it, if that matters to you.”

“Start explaining, Greenleaf,” Snow snapped, her voice dipping low. “From the beginning.”

The witch walked slowly into the living room, one hand pressed to her back. She fell heavily onto the couch with a quiet groan. “Let’s see, I was born in the woods to a jackal and a deer—”

“ _Not. That_ ,” Snow snarled in shaking tone.

Bigby pinched the bridge of his nose. His patience was long past gone. “None of this pathetic witchcraft _bullshit_ is gonna prevent me from prying what I need from your gullet if you don’t—”

“There he is,” the old woman smiled thinly, peering at him over her glasses. “The Big Bad Wolf. You almost had me fooled with the nice act.”

His glare deepened. “ _Tell me_ where Crane is,” he ordered, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest.

“I ain’t a fortune teller, _Wolf_. I have no heavenly idea where he went to.”

“You have to know something!” Snow shouted.

“Unless you want a recipe for owl stew, there’s nothing I know that would help.”

Bigby closed his eyes tightly. “Just why in the name of everything holy are you _protecting_ that fucking…piece of _shit_?! What on _earth_ could he have offered you to warrant this much loyalty?!”

Greenleaf snorted dismissively. “Crane could be hollow bones tomorrow, and you wouldn’t see me cry a single tear. I couldn’t care less if you ate him alive.”

“Then _why_?!”

“You have friends, don’t you, Wolf? Well, I don’t want _Crane’s_ friends for enemies.”

Bigby breathed out very slowly. “Alright, Greenleaf,” he said in a tight but even tone. “Fine. I get that. But—”

“There are powers at work here far beyond your fickle authority, _Sheriff_ ,” Greenleaf interrupted, leveling a glare at him.

“Whatever it is,” Snow said with difficulty, “whatever it is that’s keeping you from saying something…”

“We’ll protect you, okay?” Bigby finished. “Whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll keep you safe from it.”

Greenleaf look up at him. In a flash, her smug humor was gone, replaced by something almost like pity. “You really have no idea what’s going on here, do you?” she murmured, shaking her head slowly.

Snow’s expression changed. The witch’s tone barely fell short of patronizing, and while the sheriff was more curious than annoyed, it lit a fire behind Snow’s eyes. She stood a little straighter, smoothing down the front of her blazer. “Okay, you know what I think?”

“Enlighten us, dear,” the witch mumbled, crossing her arms.

“I think we’ve been more than patient with you.” She looked at Bigby. He read an unfamiliar hate burning her eyes. “This _witch_ has been selling illegal glamours that threaten to undermine everything we’ve tried to build in this city. She’s harboring a fugitive that took _advantage_ of her illegal services, and now she’s resisting every attempt to try to make up for her misdeeds.” Snow stormed past Bigby to the bay window, staring up at intertwining branches. “I frankly don’t give a _crap_ if she’s afraid for her life. We can at least make sure she never hurts us again.” Snow turned around. “We’re destroying the tree.”

Bigby’s eyes widened. His anger was gone in an instant.

The blood drained from Greenleaf’s face, and she jumped up. “ _No_!” she shrieked hoarsely as the room gave a violent quake. “How _dare_ you come into my home and threaten to take from me the _one thing_ that…That tree is _ancient_! It’s part of the family, and it’s the _only_ thing paying for this _shithole_ apartment! And the Fables who can’t afford their glamours from _you_ come to _me_ for help! Without that tree, where do you think they’ll go?!”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” Snow snapped. “You’re making _money_ off other people’s misery!”

“So are your witches on the thirteenth floor! At least _my_ rates are reasonable! And the money I make doesn’t fill Crane’s pockets! Mine goes to the food on my table, what little there is! It goes to the bills for this box, and it goes to—”

“Two Fables are _dead_! Two young women!” Snow looked at Bigby with a fury he didn’t recognize in her. It left him empty and cold. “This tree is too dangerous to leave with this _witch_. She won’t learn anything if we let her off without repayment—”

“ _Repayment_?!” Greenleaf shrieked. “This isn’t _repayment_! I-it’s _revenge_! It’s—”

“She’ll go right back to making her glamours!” Snow shouted over her. “This _old_ woman is going to—”

“You think I _like_ being the old woman in these stories?! The men are heroes, the ladies are _whores_ , and the old hags like me get to watch everything and everyone they love _die_.”

Snow’s anger flared again, her lips curling bitterly. “We have _very_ different ways of handling our fates.”

“Very different _means_ to handle it, too.”

“And I don’t use my past as an excuse to wreck people’s lives!”

Greenleaf turned her back on Snow, giving Bigby an imploring look. “I’m sorry, Sheriff! I am; I _never_ meant for those girls to die, but _please,_ don’t take my tree from me!”

“Snow,” Bigby breathed, looking at her past the witch.

Snow’s eyes widened in rage. “Are you _serious_ , Bigby?” she demanded shrilly. “This old woman gives you some sob story, and you want to just _roll over_ for her?!”

“We can’t ruin this woman’s life over this.”

“ _Ruin this woman’s life_?!” Snow repeated, outraged. Bigby’s chest tightened at the flicker of betrayal burning her eyes, but he couldn’t—he _wouldn’t_ condone this. Not even for her. “It’s a _slap_ on the _wrist_ compared to what she’s done, Bigby!”

“Snow, I…I know this hurt you, but—”

“ _This is not about me_!” Snow exclaimed, her voice dipping low. “This is about Faith and Lily! This is about Holly and Lawrence! This is about the women she’s killed, the lives she’s ruined!”

“She didn’t kill anyone, Snow.”

“She might as well have! She gave Crane whatever he needed, _damn_ the consequences! All she cared about was her paycheck!”

“That’s not true!” Greenleaf yelled. “I didn’t get a _penny_ from that man! Do you _know_ who he associates with?! I made those godforsaken glamours for him, because if I didn’t—”

“I’m sick of your excuses! I won’t hear them anymore! Bigby, this is an _order_. Burn the tree.”

“ _No_!” Greenleaf cried, throwing herself in front of it. “Look, look, I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything I know, _all_ I know! Crane was here! He was here, and then he left! He went to the Pudding and Pie! He wants to use my ring on the girls over there to get information.”

“What does the ring do?” Snow demanded through her teeth.

“H-he _thinks_ it’s the Ring of Dispel—you know, that it’ll pierce the protection around the girls’ speech. He said something about pulling the truth from them to prove his innocence. It won’t do that, though. Damned thing lost its power decades ago.”

Snow shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said insincerely, “but we can’t let you keep the tree. It wouldn’t be just, not after all that’s happened. Bigby. Do it.”

“ _Please_ , Sheriff!” Greenleaf gasped, her eyes wide with panic. “This tree is _everything_! It is the _only_ thing I have left!”

“Don’t listen to her, Bigby! This is a direct order! _Burn this goddamn tree_!”

“Snow,” the sheriff said in a thick voice. He gave her a tortured look and saw her conviction waver. Her eyes flashed with something so akin to hatred that it broke something inside him. She’d never looked at him like that, like he’d betrayed her. “This isn’t about her,” he continued softly, his voice husky. “It’s about Crane. And we’re going to—”

“He _stole_ my _hair_ , Bigby,” Snow breathed, her voice shaking violently. “He broke into my _home_ and took my pictures. He _used_ me for his…” Snow’s expression hardened again. “So, yeah, I’m pissed, but this isn’t about that. I still know what’s best for this town, and this tree needs to _burn_ for the safety of everyone here.”

“That’s—that doesn’t even— _Sheriff_!” Greenleaf pleaded.

Bigby shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving Snow’s.

“Bigby,” she said, her voice wavering even more. “I’m asking you to do this for me.”

The sheriff didn’t look away. “No, Snow,” he said quietly. “I’m _sorry_ for what Crane—”

“Stop, Bigby,” Snow ordered, her eyes filling despite her angry tone. “Just…stop.”

Bigby finally looked away. He couldn’t handle the way she was staring at him anymore. “I’m sorry, Snow.” He turned around and opened the door to the apartment.

Snow followed him stiffly. “Hey, Greenleaf,” she said bitterly, her voice uneven as she reached the threshold. “Don’t think this is over.”

“I won’t,” Greenleaf bit back disdainfully.

Snow stormed into the hallway, and Bigby closed the apartment door. “Snow,” he said quietly, blocking her from the stairs.

“Get out of my way,” she said through her teeth.

“Snow, talk to me. Please. We—”

“I said _move_ , Bigby!” She pushed past him more brusquely than she meant to, angrily slamming into his shoulder without thinking.

Bigby didn’t mean to react, but a wild flash of pain lanced up his arm and across his collarbone. He felt the remaining pellets nestled deep in his muscles shift, and he made a quiet, almost inaudible sound. His hand flew to his shoulder and looked down to see crimson bleed through his shirt.

Snow froze and her eyes went wide as her face paled. “Bigby!” she gasped. “Oh God, I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sorry, Snow,” he cut her off. His eyes found hers desperately. The sincerity in his expression made it difficult for her to keep his gaze. “I’m sorry Crane did this to you. I’m sorry you saw those pictures and had to find out the way you did about what he was doing. I’m sorry that witch gave him the glamour to do it, but…she’s not the bad guy. She’s…she’s just trying to survive, same as the rest of us.”

“I know that,” she said, trying to maintain her anger. Her eyes filled, and she looked away to hide it.

“This…” Bigby gave her a tortured look. “This isn’t you, Snow.”

Snow frowned at the ground and crossed her arms tightly. Her expression hardened as she put her guard up instinctively. It took her a long moment to remember who was standing with her, and then her face fell. She closed her eyes, and her shoulders dropped. “I just…I just want to stop feeling this way.”

Bigby closed his eyes briefly, too. “I know, Snow,” he whispered.

“God,” she muttered, shaking her head. She felt sick. Tears fell, and she angrily brushed them away. “I just feel so—so dirty, you know? Like I-I want to take a shower from the inside out. I can’t stop thinking about. Every time he got too close, every time he touched me unnecessarily, every time he said my name or brushed against my hand…” She tightened her arms, her hands curling into fists. “I just feel so sick and weak—and I feel terrible for feeling like that, because _I’m_ alive, but Lily? Holly lost her _sister_. Lawrence lost his wife, and I just…” She shook her head as more tears fell.

Snow wasn’t thinking when she did it, but she felt herself fall forward a little. Her forehead pressed against Bigby’s good shoulder, and she breathed out slowly.

The sheriff closed his eyes briefly. He lifted a hand to the back of her head, staring at the floor unseeingly.

“I’m sorry, Snow,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

“I should’ve known.”

“You couldn’t have.”

“I think…maybe, part of me _did_ suspect…I just always thought he…” She shook her head again on his shoulder, her arms tightening over her chest. “I’m sorry, Bigby.” She pulled back. Bigby raised a hand to brush a fresh tear away from her cheek before he pulled his fingers away. She searched his eyes, her own filling once more with tears that made her even angrier at herself for her weakness. “I’m sorry for what I said at the Business Office. I’m sorry for…” Her gaze drifted to Greenleaf’s door, and then she looked down. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Bigby’s eyebrows pulled together again, and he shook his head softly. “Snow…” He looked away. A long moment passed in silence before he spoke again. “I’m going to the Pudding and Pie. We’re gonna get this asshole; I promise, Snow…Are you coming with me?”

Snow breathed in deeply and nodded. “Yes,” she murmured. “I want to make him pay for what he’s done.” Her eyes fell to the floor again. “I want him to pay.”


	19. Chapter 19

The car jolted to a New York stop just outside the Pudding and Pie. Bigby and Snow got out silently, each immersed in their own thoughts.

“That’s Crane’s car,” Snow said suddenly, pointing at the blue Cadillac near the club.

Bigby tried the door to the Pudding and Pie and kicked it in when he found it locked—too hard. The frame snapped, and the door fell crooked on its hinges as it smashed against the wall.

They marched inside together and heard Georgie muttering when they got close to the last room.

“No,” he was saying, “it’s nothin’ you need to concern yourself with…don’t think so, at least.” Georgie looked up when Snow and Bigby pushed through the plum curtain. His expression darkened. “Shit, ‘old on.” He lowered the phone and frowned at the sheriff. “Wha’, come to threaten me again, try to close my business? Out with it then. Wha’ do you wan’?” Neither Snow nor Bigby stopped. “Oh, I see ‘ow it is…come to audition your bitch. Not really my type, but she’d got a right lofty pair on ‘er; reckon they’ll fetch me a nice pr—”

Bigby punched Georgie as hard as he could without stopping. Pain lanced up his fist as his knuckle cracked. He shook his hand out and continued to the backroom angrily. He’d heard Crane’s desperate cries as soon as he’d stepped into the club.

“Oi!” Georgie shouted after them. “You can’t just—shit.” He lifted the phone to his ear again, holding his broken nose with his other hand. “We have a problem.”

Bigby kicked in the door to the backroom. It bounced off the wall loudly, but for all the commotion Crane was making, it went more or less unheard. He was shaking Nerissa violently by the shoulders, his bony fingers digging into her skin as he shouted in her face. Bigby’s eyes flashed a brilliant yellow, and he lunged forward.

“I can’t!” Nerissa sobbed, mascara-laced tears streaming down her cheeks. “These lips are sealed! I’m sorry!”

Bigby grabbed Crane so hard the man cried out. He yanked him back forcefully, throwing him to the other side of the room. Nerissa fled to Vivian near the dressing tables. The older woman took the girl in her arms, watching the others warily.

Crane paled, his eyes going wide when he read the rage in Bigby’s. “Oh my God—B-Bigby, I-I can explain! I—”

Bigby tightened his fist and pulled it back.

“Wait, don’t!” Snow suddenly called.

The sheriff looked at her in disbelief. She found his yellow eyes, her own expression grim.

“Don’t,” she repeated.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to lower his arm again. He pushed Crane back a step and looked over at Nerissa. Her sad eyes were watching him closely from Vivian’s embrace. “Are you alright?” he asked in a gravelly voice.

She nodded slowly, tears leaking down her cheeks.

“He didn’t hurt you?”

“I’m okay, Sheriff,” she answered shakily.

Bigby’s gaze drifted to Crane again. The deputy mayor shrank back from the glare, stumbling to the wall.

“I-I didn’t do anything!” he cried, raising his hands.

“The _fuck_ you didn’t,” Bigby growled.

“I-I promise! I didn’t! These—th-th-the girls! They’ll back me up! I j-just have to get this stupid ring working, that’s all!” Crane bent over his hand, shaking it and fiddling with a large green gemstone. “They can’t talk because of that spell, but once this ring gets through, I’ll know what’s going on, and this whole thing will be over! Th-that’s all! Please! I’m innocent! Completely, completely innocent!”

“ _Innocent_?” Bigby spit the word so threateningly that Crane shook harder. Bigby lost a flicker of control. He backhanded the man hard enough to turn his cheek to a bright, pulsing red.

Tears flooded Crane’s eyes, and he held up his hands. “W-w-wait!” he begged. “I can’t—you just have to g-give me a chance! This will work! I assure you! Everything will be solved!”

Crane tried to fling himself past the sheriff to Nerissa. Bigby caught him, but Crane didn’t give up. He reached over Bigby’s shoulder, aiming the ring desperately at Nerissa.

“I—release you!” he grunted. “Damn you! C’mon, please! Tell me who killed her!”

“These lips are sealed,” Nerissa said slowly, her sad eyes drifting to Bigby’s.

The sheriff pushed Crane off roughly. The man staggered to the wall and then collapsed to the ground. He curled up in a ball on the floor, sobs bursting through his chest helplessly.

Snow looked away. A terrible feeling swept over her. It took a long moment to realize it was pity. She wanted to be as angry as Bigby. She wanted to kick Crane or spit in his face or shout all the things she’d rehearsed in her mind. She wanted to shame him, as he did her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do any of it. Curled in on himself on the ground, he appeared weak and pathetic, and she didn’t have the heart for cruelty.

Bigby was having the opposite problem. Every sniffling cry made it harder and harder to control his anger.

“How many years?” Snow asked through her teeth. Her voice shook with conflicting emotions.

“Wh-what?” Crane whimpered, looking up at her with red and swollen eyes. He adjusted his glasses shakily and wiped the back of his mouth.

“How many years has this been going on?”

“Too…too many,” he confessed slowly. He rose to his knees and clasped his hands together. “But—but I didn’t _kill_ those women, Bigby! Please! You _have_ to believe me! I had nothing— _nothing_ to do with that! I just…I-I just—” The unrelenting rage in Bigby’s yellow eyes was too much, and Crane shrank back. “Oh God,” he sobbed into his hands.

“We found the photos of you and Lily,” Bigby said through his teeth.

His voice was such a low growl that Snow hardly recognized it. She was relieved—grateful, even—that he could still be this angry, because she was faltering.

Crane paled and looked up desperately, his eyes flitting back and forth between Snow and Bigby. “Oh God, I-I know how th-that must have…but that was—that was—I just…” He rose high on his knees, reaching for Snow’s hand. “I just _love_ you, Snow!” he shrieked. Snow recoiled as if slapped, and Bigby shoved Crane back to the ground away from her. “I love you!” Crane repeated shrilly. “I love you, I love you—and I’m—I’m _sorry_ I’m not Prince Charming, okay?! I’m _sorry_ I didn’t sleep with your sister and run away to Europe!”

Bigby’s eyes flashed so brilliantly yellow that Vivian pulled Nerissa back and stepped in front of her.

Snow’s hand fell to her stomach. “You do _not_ love me, Crane,” she said in a low, bitter voice. “I _know_ what this is. I’ve seen it before. It is not _love_.”

Crane’s eyes flooded, and he shrank away from her.

Bigby could hardly see straight. He knew he needed to calm down. The first threshold was clawing far too close in his mind; anything he did would just make this even worse for Snow, and he didn’t want to scare Nerissa. His hands remained clenched so tight his shoulder ached, but he forced himself to take steadying breaths.

Crane looked up at Snow again, and she balked at the desperation so apparent in his expression. She realized, with a terrible wave of nausea, that he wasn’t lying about the girls.

“Bigby,” she whispered. He looked at her, and she realized just how wild his eyes had become. She searched them for a moment and then surprised herself with her own words. “I don’t think he did it.”

Shock dimmed his eye color a little. He turned to face her, deliberately putting Crane out of his line of sight. “What?” he breathed.

“Look at him,” she replied with a gesture. Bigby didn’t trust himself to. “Do you _really_ think this man murdered those women? He’s not…he wouldn’t be _brave_ enough to. He wouldn’t even have the _stomach_ to do it. He’s…he’s a disgusting coward, but…but he’s not a murderer, Bigby.”

“ _Thank you_ , my dear,” Crane gasped in relief. “It means so much to—”

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Okay, okay,” he breathed, nodding and shrinking back.

“What do you mean?” Bigby asked softly, his eyes on hers. “You don’t think he did it at all? What about Lily? Snow, if you’d seen the room—”

“I don’t need to see the room,” she replied, glancing at Crane once before she shook her head. “He didn’t do it.”

“He—still has a lot he has to answer for,” the sheriff insisted.

Snow looked away. “We all have a lot we have to answer for.”

Bigby frowned at her. “This is different, Snow, and you know it.”

“Just… _look_ at him.” Bigby didn’t. He couldn’t. He wasn’t as moved by the man’s cowering; it only made him angrier. “You said you found evidence of him defrauding Fabletown,” Snow continued, “of using our money for his own…ambitions. That’s one thing. But you don’t have doubts he’s a murderer? We’ve both known him for so long, and—”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Vivian scoffed. “Did you _see_ how he was acting when you showed up? Did you see what he was doing to Nerissa?”

“Yes,” Snow allowed. “I know how—”

“Why would he even come here if he wasn’t covering his tracks?”

“He thought he was being _framed_. And…maybe, to an extent…he is.”

Bigby made the mistake of glancing back at Crane, and his anger returned twofold. “Snow,” he said through his teeth, “you didn’t that motel room. It was a goddamn _blood bath_ , Snow. _His_ motel room with Lily! This _fuck-up_ knows more than he’s—”

“Okay, yes,” Snow replied exasperatedly. “He probably does!”

“I don’t, I don’t,” Crane whimpered.

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Crane,” Bigby barked.

Snow pulled his arm to make him look at her again. “There’s a world of difference between knowing more than he’s saying and _murdering_ women.” She looked down at Crane disdainfully. “You’ve been stealing money from Fabletown for years. Haven’t you?” Crane shrank away. “Yeah. That’s what I thought…We’re not gonna kill you, so quit your shivering.” She glanced at Bigby and smoothed her blazer. “Ichabod Crane, you are under arrest for the misappropriation of Fabletown funds.”

“Get the fuck up,” Bigby ordered in a low, rumbling voice.

Crane wiped his nose and looked at Snow bitterly. “You…you really think you have what it takes to run that office? You think I didn’t make sacrifices? I _made_ sacrifices.” Crane pulled himself slowly to his feet. “You won’t be in that chair one minute before you have to give up something you care about just so the wheels don’t fall off the _goddamned_ wagon! I did the best I could with what I had. And the town took everything it could out of me! If I maybe took a little something back in return, then so be it.”

Bigby grabbed Crane’s collar and pulled him closer. “Yeah, the thing of it is, we’re better at this than you.” He threw Crane ahead of him to the back door. “Walk,” he ordered, “and if you even _think_ about running again—”

“Save your threats, Wolf,” Crane muttered. “Wouldn’t want Snow to see the real you again, would you?”

Bigby pulled Crane back and finally punched him. It felt so goddamn good that he wanted to do it again. Crane’s nose shattered, and he howled in pain. “Don’t ever fucking say her name again,” Bigby growled. He grabbed the man’s jacket and pushed him at the door again. “ _Walk_.”

Crane held a hand to his bleeding nose, whimpering quietly. Snow led the way out the back into the alleyway. Crane hesitated on the steps, looking up at the pouring rain, and Bigby shoved him the rest of the way down.

“Ah! Okay, I’m _going_ , Sheriff,” Crane spat. He picked himself back up, brushing his hands on his jacket to rid them of mud. He began mumbling under his breath as he walked.

Snow turned around slowly and regarded him with a cold glare. “What was that?” she said through her teeth.

Crane jerked a little and looked down silently. Bigby pushed him ahead a final time, and then he and Snow flanked the deputy mayor. Rain soaked through their clothes quickly, colder than it should have been, given the season. Crane led the way slowly towards his car with his head low. Just before they reached the sidewalk, a blue vehicle came to a slow stop. Bigby squinted up at it through the pounding rain. The windows were tinted so dark that he couldn’t make out the driver, but he felt their gaze on him through the windshield. The engine revved quietly.

Snow looked at Bigby worriedly. The car waited a long moment, and then the wheel turned very slowly in their direction. Tires squelched against the wet pavement until they were facing the alley. The engine revved again, and then the car jumped the curb, inching closer to them unhurriedly.

Bigby put his arm out over Snow, urging her back. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the car.

Snow and Crane turned, and Bigby heard them jog behind the club again. Bigby waited until they were clear, and then he followed them more slowly. The car revved behind him, shepherding them leisurely.

They rounded the Pudding and Pie and walked briskly to the next alley. They didn’t get far. A long black sedan pulled over the curb. Another car joined it at an angle until the alley was completely blocked. The other car revved in the wide alley behind the club, its headlights shining brightly in the rain. Snow raised a hand to the light to block it. She stepped closer to Bigby, her eyes glued on the black sedan.

“Oh God,” Crane whimpered, shaking violently. “No, no, no.”

“What is this?” Snow demanded. “Who are they?”

“Oh God…you’ve killed us, Bigby.”

The passenger door of the sedan opened, and a pair of long black boots landed on the ground. A woman stood slowly, glancing at the others down the alley with a playful smirk. Her hazel eyes appeared red under the glow of the neon sign from the club. She cocked her head at the sheriff, slowly rolling up the sleeves of her black blazer to her elbows. Her short black hair grew damp in the rain, and she casually tucked a single, crimson-colored lock behind her ear.

Bigby and Snow exchanged a look when Crane whimpered again softly.

The woman grinned and leaned against the top of her door. “Hi,” she greeted warmly in a smoky voice. “Whatcha got there?”

Bigby immediately recognized her playful tone as the collector on Crane’s machine. She worked for the Crooked Man.

“Oh God,” Crane repeated. 

Dee and Dum got out of the other car, twin shotguns ready in their hands. Both barrels raised to point down the alley, and Bigby stepped forward once to shield Snow as best he could.

“Look,” the woman drawled, closing her door. She led the others down the alleyway nonchalantly. “It’s recently come to our attention that you’re…hm, how shall I put this?” She hummed thoughtfully as she pulled a silver gun from the back of her pants. She made a show of slipping a single bullet into the chamber and spinning it before she closed it again. “You’re attempting to claim what is the personal property of the Crooked Man.” She stopped half a dozen feet away from the sheriff and Snow. “He’s about yay high, a hundred and twenty-odd pounds, pissed his sheets until he was fourteen…ring any bells?”

“I haven’t told them anything!” Crane shrieked.

“Shh, shh, shh, not now, not now,” the woman whispered over the rain. “The grown-ups are speaking now.” Her eyes flickered between Bigby and Snow. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Get out of our way,” Bigby said through his teeth.

The woman looked amused. “Oh no, no, no, _no_ , that’s not how this works. How this works is you’re going to walk Crane over here, like a good little doggie, and I won’t shoot you.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Crane cried.

Snow elbowed him hard in the stomach. “Shut up.” She turned back to the woman, stepping ahead of Bigby. “You are interfering with official Fabletown business. Step aside.”

Bigby took her arm and pulled her back again. She tried to fight him, but he wasn’t looking her. His eyes were fixed so seriously on the woman that Snow stopped resisting. He stepped in front of her again, his shoulders tensed.

“Ah,” the woman smiled. “That’s a loyal pup you got there, sweetheart. What do you smell, doggie, hm? Something not quite right in the air? Say, Tweedle Dee, what’s the, uh…” She snapped her fingers searchingly. “What’s that thing the mundies call me? I forget.”

Dee blinked and glanced at her nervously. “Wh-what?”

“My nickname,” she replied impatiently. “You _know_ what I’m talking about.”

“Uh…Bl-Bloody M—”

“Bloody Mary, that’s it. Thank you. And do you know _why_ they call me that?” she wondered rhetorically, giving Bigby a sweet smile. “Because some of them…they think it’s funny to have their little sleepovers and go into their little bathrooms and say my name five times in the mirror. They find it less funny when I actually show up and feed their lungs to the family dog.” She smiled again. “And I do that for a hobby. Like golf. To relax.” She shifted her weight, tapping the barrel of her revolver against her leg. “ _This_ is my job. I _like_ my job. So, think about what I’m gonna do to you, your girl, and the rest of your friends if you don’t hand over the sock puppet now.”

Bigby’s jaw clenched. His eyes flashed yellow again. Rain dripped off the ends of his hair as he leveled a murderous glare at the woman. “You picked the wrong fucking night to try and pull this shit,” he growled through his teeth.

Dee glanced at Mary nervously. “Told you he’d never just give ‘im up,” he mumbled shakily.

Mary silenced him with a cold stare. The blood drained from Dee’s face, and he swallowed. She turned back to the others with a blank expression. She considered them for a long, unnerving moment.

Rain beat down against the pavement violently and streamed noisily into the gutter. It was reminiscent of babbling brook, but the soothing sound did nothing to calm Snow’s nerves. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest it hurt as she watched the other woman. Mary’s blank, unblinking eyes were fixed on Bigby’s. Snow was frozen, afraid to do anything but stand there and wait. She felt it heavy in the air, a suffocating weight that threatened to strangle her. Something terrible was about to happen.

Mary narrowed her eyes a little before she shrugged. “Fuck it.”

She turned around and sauntered back down the alleyway. Dee and Dum raised their guns.

Everything else happened very fast.

Bigby turned and pushed Snow roughly behind a dumpster at the exact moment that twin shots deafened her. Snow hit the ground as shotgun pellets sprayed into Bigby’s chest. She whipped around to see blood pepper through his shirt, and he took half a step back, his eyes widening a little at the pain.

They didn’t stop.

Bloody Mary watched with a twisted grin as they took alternating shots. As one reloaded, the other fired. Bigby stumbled back, pain blinding him as pellets dug into his stomach, shoulders, hips, collarbones. They ripped through his skin, tore through his muscles, shredded his organs, severed nerves, and ricocheted off bones. Blood soaked his torso until there was hardly any white to his shirt left, and then it ran down his pants, pooling below his shoes as each shot forced him back another step.

It took Snow a long moment to realize she was screaming. Bigby hit a wall. His yellow eyes had dimmed as he stared dazedly at the ground. His breaths wheezed out of him weakly, and, for a long second, nothing happened. Silence rang in the alley deafeningly.

Bigby slowly slid down the wall. Blood smeared across the bricks behind him as he fell to the ground. His head slipped to his chest, and his hands grew limp on the puddled pavement.

Snow screamed his name. She bolted out of cover and fell beside him in the rain. Her hands flitted to him, twitching in midair. She didn’t even know which wound to cover. His shirt was riddled with holes, but blood hid every wound as it flowered copiously enough to sting her nose with its scent. “Oh God, Bigby!” she whimpered, her hands shaking.

Mary laughed from down the alleyway. “Well, isn’t that sweet?”

Snow realized she was crying. “Bigby?” She took his face in her hands, lifting his head up. Horror clenched her heart when she realized he wasn’t breathing. His eyes were unfocused and still—warm, chocolate irises staring unseeingly ahead. Snow shook her head, crying harder. It wasn't possible. “No, no, oh God, _Bigby_! Bigby, please, please—what have you _done_?!” she screamed at the Tweedles. “N-no, please, please— _Bigby_!”

The sheriff’s fingers twitched at his sides. A dizzying swirl of pain overwhelmed him, and then everything was buried beneath the clamor of the first and second thresholds roaring over him.

His eyes flashed a piercing yellow, and Snow gasped—first in relief and then in shock when his irises shifted again, adopting a crimson, bloody color.

“Bigby?” she whispered urgently. “Oh God, Bigby?”

“Might wanna step back, sweetheart,” Mary called casually. “I think the Big Bad Wolf might come out to play.”

Bigby couldn’t see Snow beside him anymore. Crane reached out and yanked her several feet away. She pushed him off her furiously. Bigby stood slowly, large breaths heaving through breached lungs. Snow watched in astonishment as he slowly began to heal. Bloodied, open wounds puckered and pushed out pellets that clattered to the wet ground. Dee and Dum exchanged terrified looks, and Mary grinned darkly. The Tweedles lifted their shotguns again, firing and reloading as quickly as they could.

Snow screamed again, her voice growing hoarse. Each shot hit Bigby, but he barely seemed to feel it. He staggered forward slowly as the twins retreated. His blood-red eyes focused on them and nothing else. A buckshot slammed into his injured shoulder, and he grunted. The force of it made him take a step back, but then he continued towards them. Snow opened her mouth to call his name again, but no sound came out.

A shot landed in his hip, and Bigby felt it briefly sever the muscle there. He stumbled against the dumpster as the wound healed almost as fast. His leg quickly regained feeling. His eyes flashed a more brilliant, shining red and then slowly shifted into yellow again as the transition began to take place. His teeth grew into long, sharp fangs. Another shot made him stumble as it cut through his chest savagely. He gripped the edge of the dumpster, grunting quietly. Dark, thick fur grew over his skin, hiding it from view. His nails extended into long, thick claws. He gave a low, rumbling roar that made everyone’s hair stand on edge, and then he fell to his knees, hunching over as he shifted amidst a hail of bullets.

His shirt split across his back as his shoulders grew broader. He ripped it off with a growl and threw it aside. His bones grew longer and thicker as his werewolf form took over. His shoes burst and fell apart, and his pants tightened and strained against his legs. They didn’t sever, but the stitches looked close to popping as he roared again. His claws clacked against the concrete, and when he finally picked himself back up, he wasn’t Bigby anymore.

It had been centuries since Snow had seen his werewolf form. She’d nearly forgotten how intimidating, even terrifying, he could be. But as had been the case when they’d first met—and every single day since—she wasn’t afraid of him. No, today, she was petrified for him, because Bloody Mary was still grinning, her eyes wild with amusement.

Dee and Dum backed away in horror. The wolf stepped forward, thick, massive feet hitting the ground heavily as raw instinct began to overcome rational thought. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating yellow eyes and the cold, murderous look of a predator on the prowl.

Mary leaned back against the hood of the black sedan. She put her gun back into the back of her pants and crossed her arms to watch.

The werewolf reached for the dumpster and threw it across the alley with little effort. It ricocheted violently between both buildings, knocking bricks loose with each crash before it sailed into the Tweedle brothers. Before they could recover, Bigby wrenched a high-voltage electricity box of the side of the quick-cash building and threw it at Dee.

When he was stunned, the werewolf lunged down the alley, his hands and feet propelling him impossibly fast. The Tweedles shot desperately at him. Each pellet dug into Bigby’s skin, but he didn’t feel it. Snow knew when he returned to his human form, he would be in agony, despite his accelerated healing, but she found some comfort that the cheap pellets wouldn’t kill him. She knew of only one thing that could.

The werewolf launched himself at Dee, dug his claws deep into the man’s chest, and threw him against the wall. Bigby pinned him there and released a terrifying, rumbling growl. He pulled Dee back and slammed him against the wall repeatedly until the shotgun fell from his hands. Dum’s gun went off at close range, pellets ripping violently across the werewolf’s back. Bigby dropped Dee and roared. The werewolf turned and dug his claws into the other Tweedle’s chest. His eyes found Mary’s, and she waved him forward with a smirk. He threw the Tweedle across the alley. She stood casually and stepped out of the way as Dum sailed over her and crashed into the car. He rolled off to the other side, landing heavily on the street.

The werewolf tried to launch himself at her, but Dee cocked his gun. Bigby grabbed it before he could fire and wrenched it away violently. Dee watched in abject horror as the werewolf bent the weapon in half. It whined and groaned shrilly in protest and then broke in two pieces. Bigby threw them carelessly in opposite directions. One half clattered on the pavement and slid over to Snow and Crane. She stared at it in shock before looking back up at the werewolf.

Dee tried to run. Bigby caught him and threw him up against the wall, roaring in his face. Dee cried out in sheer fear, struggling to free himself as terror froze his limbs.

“F-fuck…you…Wolf,” Dee rasped shakily, grabbing Bigby’s furry wrist with both hands.

The werewolf growled in response. He pulled his other hand back and flashed his claws. Dee shut his eyes tight, cringing from the final blow.

“ _Bigby_!” Snow shrieked, running halfway down the alley.

The werewolf’s head jerked towards the sound. His yellow eyes met ocean irises, and his expression turned forlorn as he recognized her. The wolf faltered, a low, confused whine slipping from his chest.

“Bigby,” she breathed again quietly, her own expression tortured.

The wolf released Dee and stumbled back a step, his eyes staying on hers. He looked so ashamed that, for a second, Snow thought he might turn and run away.

He didn’t get the chance.

A shot pierced the silence, and Snow jumped.

Yellow eyes flashed open wide. The howl Bigby released was nothing short of agony. He whirled around. Mary was grinning darkly, her silver gun smoking in her hand. Steam sizzled the air around Bigby’s side. He staggered forward, one clawed hand reaching limply for his ribs before he fell to the ground.

“Oh God, _Bigby_!” Snow screamed, running to him.

The wolf whimpered as his chest heaved wildly. Snow stopped just short of him when she saw the way his skin seared at the entry wound, burning and bubbling beneath his thick fur. Rain washed blood from the wound as quickly as it pooled. Long, thick tendrils snaked down to the puddles of the pavement, running past Mary’s boots as she smiled at the wolf.

Snow began shaking as she recognized the effects of silver. “ _Bigby_!” she shrieked hoarsely again.

“It was a good show,” Mary allowed, lowering the gun. “But…you know, it just didn’t know when to end.” She sauntered back to the passenger side of the black sedan. She opened the door and reached inside for something. “Silver’s not too cheap these days,” she mused conversationally. “Not the pure, _clean_ kind you need to make a bullet like that.” She clicked her tongue and sighed. “But _boy_ was it worth every last penny.”

Snow’s heart stopped when Mary produced the Woodsman’s silver axe. The woman walked forward slowly, letting the blade drag loudly against the bricks of the club beside her. Bigby watched weakly, wounded whines slipping through his chest.

“You know,” Mary hummed, “it’s interesting. You wouldn’t think silver bullets would work on anything but a _pure_ werewolf, but…as it turns out…that’s just not the case, is it, Wolfie? I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how this bullet would work. Had to pay quite a bit to find someone who could make it for me _just_ right. I tested it of course,” she grinned darkly. “ _Many_ times, but…tell me, Wolf, what does it feel like to have a bullet shred inside you?”

Bigby tried to pull himself up. His clawed hands scratched against the pavement, and he made it to his knees. The burning shrapnel inside his chest shifted, and he howled as he collapsed again. Pain blinded him, and a low, long whine slipped through his teeth. The sound brought tears to Snow’s eyes as she watched, frozen in horror.

Mary rested the axe on her shoulder, stopping directly in front of Bigby. “I mean, can you argue with these results? I almost melted down ol’ Woody’s axe here for the silver—some kind of poetic justice, but then I thought, ‘no, Mary, wait. That axe might be even more fun intact.’” She used her boot to kick Bigby onto his back roughly. A sharp, agonized howl made Snow cry out wordlessly. “I can’t tell you how satisfying this is,” Mary breathed. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to meet you, Wolf. It’s such a rush seeing you down there. You know…I gotta say it—it’s better than sex, it really is. The undefeated Big Bad Wolf, whimpering on the ground in a puddle of his own blood.” She shook her head, marveling. She leveled the blade at his neck, letting the silver hiss at his skin as the wolf groaned. She lifted it high over her shoulder, a malicious glint in her eye.

Bigby turned his head slowly to Snow, to her ocean eyes one last time, and then he closed his own.

“ _Wait_!” Snow screamed. “Stop! Please!” She cried as she looked down at Bigby’s side, at the wound that was slowly, agonizingly killing him.

Mary’s eyes flickered up to hers. “Yes, dear?” she asked sweetly.

“Just…” Snow managed to glare through her tears. Hatred and terror made her hands tremble violently. “Just take him. Okay?” she said slowly. “Take Crane.”

Mary cocked her head and let the axe fall to her shoulder again. “Once more?”

“Please. Leave him alone.”

Mary twisted her mouth and lifted a finger to her chin. “Mm…yeah, I really don’t know about that…” She swayed her head indecisively. “I mean… _Crane_ or watching the Big Bad Wolf drown in his own blood in a dirty alley…It’s just too delicious!”

“Snow,” Bigby managed to rasp, the sound garbled and thick. His yellow eyes grew hazy as he looked at her. Snow’s heart leapt into her throat when she saw blood running from his mouth. “Go…Snow…run.”

Mary glanced over her shoulder to the black sedan. The back window rolled halfway down, and, for a long moment, nothing happened. Then, a hand moved out through the gap, offered a lazy gesture, and slowly disappeared. The window rolled back up, and Mary smiled at Snow.

“It’s your lucky day, kiddo!” she hummed. “The Crooked Man says it’s okay with him.”

Snow fell to her knees beside Bigby, cradling his head in her lap. His yellow eyes stared up at the clouds, tight with agony and growing more unfocused. His eyelashes were wet, and his breaths were wheezing out of him weakly.

“Hello, Ichabod,” Mary said in a soft voice. “Aw, got a stomachache?”

Crane walked forward slowly and looked down at Snow. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she cradled the wolf, her hands growing sticky with blood and fur.

“Well,” Mary sighed contentedly. She patted Crane’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s about time for us to go, huh?” She looked down at the couple in the rain and shook her head. “I have to say, I’m disappointed, Wolfie. I mean, really, you’ve changed! Too pussy to ruin a Tweedle’s day.” She lifted her boot and, before Snow could shield him from the blow, slammed her foot down on Bigby’s limp arm. The bone popped out, and his eyes flashed brilliantly again. He howled weakly, jerking violently against Snow, and she cried out in horror.

She raised a shaking hand out, covering him as best she could from further assault. “ _Please_!” she exclaimed. “Just—stop! You have what you want! Just—just _stop_!”

Mary grinned and adjusted Crane’s jacket. “Well, I think this is going to be a _beautiful_ relationship we have with you guys. Really, I mean it. I’m jazzed about it.” She whirled around and sauntered lazily over to the black sedan. Crane followed her numbly, watching the ground as he walked. “Hurry along now, Crane. It’s _rude_ to keep the Crooked Man waiting.” Mary smiled at the others and leaned against her door. “Out with the old, in with the new. Long live the queen. We’ll be in touch.”

The cars pulled off the curb slowly and casually until Bigby and Snow were alone in the alley.

Snow dropped her head. She couldn’t even tell anymore if it was tears or rain running down her cheeks. Bigby’s eyes slid closed as wheezing breaths shook his body, and Snow began to fear that the silver bullet had reached his lung. He panted a few times in agony, and then he grew heavy in her lap, mercifully sinking into unconsciousness. Snow looked down at him for a long moment, fear paralyzing her. It shook her to her core and clouded her thoughts. She tilted forward, cradling his head and shoulders. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she coughed out a quiet, helpless sob. Bigby twitched and shuddered against her, blood pooling thickly beneath them both.


	20. In Sheep's Clothing

Snow was pacing up and down the tiny living room anxiously. Her eyes were glued to the doctor as he worked, thought the sight was nauseating. Dr. Swineheart’s hands were covered in blood; she couldn’t even see his fingers for how deep they were between Bigby’s ribs. It made her stomach churn unhappily, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away, not even for a moment. Colin was on the floor nearby, his wide eyes equally horrified.

Bigby was fortunately still unconscious. In his sleep, he’d slowly shifted back into his human form. Snow had thought that was good, but Dr. Swineheart grimly informed her his pain would be far worse and his healing greatly slowed.

Nerissa had called him from the club. When he’d arrived, he’d brought Snow and Bigby to the sheriff’s apartment. It was difficult to get him inside and upstairs. Every movement—even the slightest shift—made Bigby grunt or groan in his sleep. His wound had grown red and angry, burning and sizzling. The scent of burning flesh still lingered in the apartment, competing only with the smell of copper.

His lungs had been shot to hell by the Tweedles. His breaths had been terrifyingly ragged for a long time, but he _was_ healing, if incredibly slowly. Dr. Swineheart had attributed the near-standstill to the silver; once it was gone, his healing rate would double, but the toxic shock of the element had halted everything. Even still, his chest and shoulders looked a little better—which had more to do with his werewolf form than his human healing—and his breaths had grown quieter in the apartment. Everything but the silver bullet hole seemed to be improving slowly. That particular wound was getting worse the more time passed. Bigby’s skin hissed quietly in the silence of the apartment. Everything in the silver bullet's path had been burned badly, and Snow knew it would leave a permanent scar in its wake.

Dr. Swineheart was focused intensely on his work. His forehead was beaded in sweat, and his brow was low over his eyes. His hands were unaffected by his evident concern. His fingers worked confidently and steadily as he slowly found and pulled out pieces of silver from Bigby. He had been working for well over two hours already, but he still seemed far from being done.

“What’s the prognosis, doctor?” Snow asked worriedly. It felt like the hundredth time she’d asked. Her voice was reedy and terribly shaky. She was drenched in Bigby’s blood, her clothes soaked through to her skin, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave and change until the worst of it was over. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. She felt sick and weak and dizzy, but she continued her pacing, too on-edge to relax.

“Whatever that woman used was no joke,” Swineheart answered slowly. His voice was smooth and calm as he worked. Snow wished it had a more contagious effect. But she’d seen his eyes when he’d first seen Bigby’s condition; no manner of bedside manner now would make her forget that look—not until Bigby woke up.

“What does that mean?” Colin asked, watching the doctor as closely as Snow was. “What’d she use?”

“I've never seen anything like this. An ordinary silver bullet itself would have been agonizing, but this slug deformed and shredded on impact.”

Colin’s eyes fell, and he paled.

“He’ll be okay, though,” Snow said hurriedly, her tone desperate.

The doctor slowly pulled another shard from Bigby. The silver tapped onto the plate with the rest. “Mm?”

“He’ll be okay?”

“His internal organs are positively riddled. If I don’t extract every single scrap of silver, he’s liable to suffer long-term toxicosis.”

Snow stopped walking, her eyes growing wider. “Will he—”

Bigby’s eyes suddenly flew open. He gasped and groaned, lifting his head off the back of his little chair where he was slumped.

“Easy there,” the doctor said quickly. “Try not to move.”

“Bigby!” Snow breathed, coming closer to him.

The sheriff started choking, his raspy breath halting. He slumped to one side, coughing up and spitting out a mouthful of blood. The doctor moved his hands, watched him work the blood from his lungs, and then got back to work as soon as Bigby settled again.

“Bigby,” Snow repeated in a tortured voice, her bloody hands flying to her mouth. “Oh God.”

The sheriff’s forehead was soaked in sweat. He looked blearily at his arm. He could see well enough to know that it was obviously broken. The bone still protruded unnaturally, horrifying to behold. Bigby grunted in agony, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut.

“We can’t keep meeting this way, old boy,” the doctor chastised softly. “I’d hoped I’d be done before you were conscious. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do for the pain.”

“My arm,” Bigby grunted through his teeth. His voice was raw and thick, and Snow pressed a hand to her stomach.

“Yes,” Swineheart acknowledged, his eyes focused intensely on his task. “Very ugly but not life-threatening. I can’t say the same for the silver peppered through your vital organs.” He pulled his tweezers from Bigby’s stomach, earning a low, agonized groan from the sheriff. Another shard was added to the ever-growing, bloody pile beside the armchair.

Bigby tried to move his arm, but he cried out when his wrist and hand flopped to one side. Blood spurted from the wound, spraying across the floor.

“Bigby!” Snow exclaimed at the same time that Colin gave a nauseated sound. “P-please, Bigby, d-don’t move it! Doctor—”

“Look, I’m a bit engaged saving his life at the moment,” Swineheart murmured patiently, “but if the fractured extremity concerns him that much, he can set it himself. Done it before, old boy.”

Bigby gritted his teeth. His vision was wildly shaky and unclear as he reached for his broken hand. It felt like glass embedded under his skin, and he gave a low sound when he gripped his flopping wrist. Snow watched, anguished, as he tried to grip it as firmly as possible. He took a steadying breath, his gaze alarmingly unfocused.

The doctor gave a weary sigh. He set his tools down, leaned over, grabbed Bigby’s arm, and yanked it swiftly back into place. Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow, and he fell forward. Snow lunged to catch him. The sheriff’s head landed on her shoulder as he groaned and panted through his teeth raggedly.

“Bigby,” Snow gasped, pushing him gently back into his chair. Swineheart picked up his tools and returned to work. She knelt before the sheriff slowly, gripping his unbroken hand tightly in both of hers. “It’s—it’s gonna be okay, Bigby.”

He breathed her name as his head fell back to the chair. “Are…are you…okay?” 

Snow’s eyes flooded. “Of course I am.”

Bigby blinked slowly and glanced at the doctor. “Is she?”

Snow gave a pained, hoarse laugh and tightened her grip on him.

“She’s fine, Bigby,” Swineheart replied quietly. Bigby suddenly tensed. His eyes flashed yellow before he groaned and squeezed them shut again. “I’m sorry, old boy.”

Bigby’s jaw clenched as another low sound was pulled from him. His breaths grew even wilder as his hands started shaking.

“Doctor,” Snow pleaded, “can’t we—give him something? Some herbs o-or medicine or…or even a drink or—”

“No,” Swineheart answered sadly. “Not even water, I’m afraid. Not with the state his organs are in. I’m sorry, Bigby. Just a bit longer, then you can rest.”

Bigby’s eyes were closed tightly. Snow prayed he’d pass out again, but he didn’t. 

Colin watched from afar, his expression growing even more concerned.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Swineheart muttered. “And he won’t be next time if he keeps going like this. He didn’t listen to me before, but maybe he’ll listen to you, Miss White.”

Snow’s hands tightened on Bigby’s. “I don’t know about that,” she tried to joke. Her tone made it fall flat.

“Well, he should. There are limits to what even I can do.”

“You know,” Bigby rasped in a hoarse voice, “I _can_ hear you.”

“Shh,” the doctor replied. “Try to relax.”

“Don’t talk,” Snow agreed.

Swineheart moved his tweezers deeper into Bigby, gripping something firmly. A whine slipped through Bigby’s teeth, and he squeezed his eyes as beads of sweat raced down his temples. Snow’s eyes filled again when his eyelashes grew wet with agony, and she thoughtlessly lifted her hand to his cheek.

“Excuse me, Miss White,” Swineheart said quietly. “I apologize, but…perhaps it would be better if you gave me a few minutes to finish with him. This is delicate—”

“No,” Bigby breathed thickly. “Stay…please…”

Swineheart sighed. “Well, there you have it.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Bigby,” Snow promised, her thumb sweeping across his cheek. “I’m right here.”

He coughed once, the sound wheezing out of him. “Good,” he panted, his eyes still closed. “Don’t…know if I trust this guy.”

A surprised laugh was pulled weakly from Snow. Swineheart snorted. “Oh please. I could do this with my optic nerves severed.”

“Doc,” the pig in the corner said, “how much longer?”

“Colin, leave him be,” Snow interjected quietly.

“You got to ask,” Colin frowned.

Swineheart’s brow furrowed in concentration. “It’s finished when it’s finished.”

“You know, I once watched a vet sew a turtle together in ten minutes flat,” the pig muttered.

“Colin,” Snow sighed, glancing at him bitterly. “You’re not even supposed to be here right now.”

“Oh? And where _am_ I supposed to be? I’m here to take care of my friend.”

Bigby tensed and groaned at Swineheart’s efforts. “Could you…please not distract the doctor…while he has my chest cut open?”

“Yes, that _would_ be helpful,” Swineheart muttered.

“Sorry, Bigby,” Snow replied, her thumb brushing across his cheek again. “I’m so sorry this happened.”

Colin watched her unhappily. His expression grew grim and irritated as he shook his head and looked away.

“Is there anything I can do, doctor?” she asked quietly.

“Are you asking genuinely or just to be polite?”

Snow frowned. “Genuinely.”

“There’s a lot of blood here. It’s difficult to work in. It would be very helpful if it was cleared up a little.

“O-oh,” Snow said, her eyes widening. “Y-yes, of course. Of course. Bigby?”

He grunted quietly in response, too weak to manage much else.

“Bigby, I’ll be right back, okay?”

He repeated the noise, adding a loose nod.

Snow got up swiftly and went to Bigby’s kitchenette. She opened cupboards briskly and loudly until she found a bucket. She threw it in the sink and filled it with lukewarm water while she searched for a clean towel. She was beginning to think he didn’t own any when she finally located one with his scarce silverware. Turning off the tap, she grabbed her supplies and hurried back to the living room. Colin frowned at her as she knelt between Bigby’s legs again. She dunked the rag and wrung it out swiftly, inching closer to where the doctor was working.

“Careful,” he warned gently, his bloody fingers deep inside Bigby’s chest.

Snow swayed a little when she saw the burning wound up close. Her mind recoiled from it, and her stomach lurched, but she ground her teeth and got to work. She pressed the towel to Bigby’s skin, gently clearing away blood. Bigby shuddered and groaned when the towel drew too close to his searing skin. Snow stuttered an anguished apology before she continued more carefully.

“Much better,” the doctor said quietly. “Thank you, Miss White.”

Bigby grunted, the sound low and tortured.

“Sorry, Bigby,” Snow whispered, her own voice not much steadier.

“Snow,” he breathed quietly. His eyebrows pulled together in pain as sweat dripped down his neck and chest in rivulets.

“I’m here, Bigby,” Snow murmured. “It’s…i-it’s going to be okay. Dr. Swineheart’s almost finished.”

Bigby repeated her name, sounding more out of it than before. Colin watched grimly, feeling oddly protective over the wolf’s heart.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Miss White,” the doctor said slowly, his mind more focused on his work than his words, “clearing up the rest of the blood would make it quicker to apply the gauze when I’m finished. Some of his wounds have healed, but the others need to be cleaned first.”

“Of course,” Snow replied, leaning back on her heels to dunk the towel again. The water was orange now and growing darker. She wrung the towel out, her fingers shaking as she returned to the wounded sheriff. She moved to his chest, her eyebrows pulling together. Blood had knotted his hair and crusted against his skin. Snow swallowed and blinked away tears as she pressed the towel to his skin gently.

“You—” Bigby choked and turned his head. He coughed up more blood with a low groan before he opened his eyes, struggling dazedly to find hers. “Snow, you— _ngh_ —you don’t have to do that,” he panted, his eyes sliding closed again.

“Shh,” she whispered. “Don’t talk.” She ran the rag over his chest as delicately as she could, working slowly and carefully. He barely seemed to notice whatever small flicker of pain her actions might have brought; his body was tensed and focused on the agony in his side.

Cleaning him sufficiently was a long process. Snow fell into an easy loop of wetting the rag, wringing it dry, cleaning Bigby’s stomach or chest, and starting all over again. Her own fingers ran with bloody water that stained the cuffs of her jacket. The scent of copper stung her nose and made her stomach roll, but she didn’t dare take a minute to catch her breath. 

“Is this better, doctor?” she asked when she finished.

“Much,” Swineheart nodded without looking.

Bigby’s eyes suddenly flashed open—his irises a brilliant, shining yellow—as Swineheart pulled a particularly large shard out.

“Sorry, old boy,” the doctor murmured again. “Almost finished. Hang in there. You’re doing well.”

Bigby grunted in response, his eyes closing once more. His muscles spasmed weakly in pain. Snow dropped the towel in the bloody water. She cleaned it as best she could and then used it to wipe the blood from her fingers.

The doctor extracted a final piece, and then he breathed out heavily. “There,” he sighed, leaning back. He dropped his bloodied tools to the table and stretched his back a little. “All done.”

Bigby sagged against the chair with a quiet grunt.

The doctor left to wash his hands and returned with a thread and needle. “Just one more step, old boy.”

Snow tried not to watch as he stitched Bigby’s side up, but her eyes seemed glued to the horror of the needle poking through his tanned skin and lacing him together again. The doctor worked quickly and efficiently. Bigby jerked occasionally, grunts slipping from him every time the needle punctured his burned skin, but he seemed less pained with the silver gone.

“Done,” Swineheart murmured, cutting the thread. He wiped his hands clean and glanced at Snow. “Miss white, could you help me lift him just a little?”

Snow dried her hands on her skirt and leaned up to take Bigby’s shoulders gently. She pulled him off the back of the chair as tenderly as she could. Bigby grunted. He was stiff and difficult to move. His expression contorted, and he breathed out sharply. His eyes flashed open yellow before they simmered back to his usual warm brown.

“Sorry, Bigby,” Snow murmured thickly.

Bigby’s eyes closed again at the sound of her voice. His head fell forward in exhaustion as he panted. Swineheart wound gauze around the sheriff’s chest and shoulder until his torso was more bandage than skin.

“This isn’t a habit you should keep to,” Swineheart mumbled while he worked, “having these visits with me. And, well…this time…this time was no joke. Eat as many metal shells as you see fit but take just one more silver round near your heart, and the only place I’ll be visiting you is the morgue.” Snow closed her eyes, her fingers drifting to Bigby’s cheek. “Miss White,” the doctor continued, looking at her briefly. “He’ll be fine for _light_ duty by tomorrow—if he can figure out what that means.”

“He knows what it means,” Snow replied defensively. She regretted her sharp tone and continued apologetically. “It’s just been…an unusual couple of days, doctor.”

“I know,” Swineheart murmured. “But please, don’t give him any excuses. His body will eventually give out. Take care of him. Please.”

“I will,” Snow promised solemnly.

“I _can_ still hear you,” Bigby muttered.

“You hear me, yes,” Swineheart allowed, “but I doubt whether you really listen.”

Bigby grunted in response. The doctor finished slowly, and then Snow let the sheriff fall gently back into the armchair. She stood as the doctor washed his hands and packed up his tools.

Her eyes widened a little. “You…you’re not leaving, are you? Wh-what if—”

“He’s passed through the worst of it,” Swineheart replied. “Sleep—that’s what he needs most right now. Just keep watch over him. His body will do the rest now that the silver is gone. And make sure he doesn’t get into further altercations.”

“Still here,” Bigby mumbled. “Still able to hear. Snow has enough on her plate, doc. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” the doctor mused sardonically. He looked at Snow again. “Anyway…guard against, as they say. Miss White. Sheriff. _Colin_.”

“Swiney,” the pig retorted.

Swineheart gave Snow one final firm look and then closed the door behind himself. A few seconds passed in complete silence, and then Bigby started to get up painfully. 

“Bigby, no, stop,” Snow argued, coming to his side.

“I’m fine, Snow,” he replied with a grunt. “I just need—”

“What? What is it? I’ll get it for you. Please, sit back down. You—you just got out of surgery!”

“I’m fine, Snow,” he repeated gently. He raised a hand to his bandaged side and grimaced as he shuffled to the kitchenette slowly. He coughed and used the wall for balance with his other hand, his steps sluggish and exhausted. Snow followed him anxiously, prepared to catch him if necessary.

Bigby leaned over the sink in the kitchen with a low growl. He rinsed his mouth out several times and drank a couple handfuls of water before he stood upright with another grunt. He reached for the fridge and pulled out a beer.

“He said you couldn’t drink anything,” Snow said worriedly.

“I don’t think it can get any worse,” Bigby mumbled. He popped the lid off with difficulty and then settled back against the counter. He took a long drink and sighed quietly. His eyelids fell a little heavily as he stared at the wall.

Snow swallowed and played with her fingers, her eyes anxiously on his. “How…how, um…do you feel?”

“It’s _Bigby_ , Snow,” Colin muttered behind her. “He’ll be okay. Hell, I’ve seen him take worse.”

“Not much worse,” Snow frowned.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Snow,” Bigby said quietly, looking out the small window. It was still raining outside, blurring the red neon sign across the street. “I’ll be fine.”

Snow chewed on the inside of her cheek and then gave a half-hearted smile. “I’m still glad you’re not dead.”

Bigby glanced at her and snorted weakly. He kept a hand to his side absently, his eyes drifting to the wall again. He moved the beer to the counter and let his other hand rest against the edge of the counter.

Snow stepped forward hesitantly and fitted herself in the tight space between the sheriff and the wall. His eyes rose to hers slowly, and she saw just how drained he was. Not just tired but defeated in a way she’d never seen. She shot the pig a cold glance, and Colin frowned at her unhappily before he walked away, grumbling under his breath.

“You, uh…” Snow looked up at Bigby slowly. “You stopped breathing, you know, when you…passed out or…or… _died_ , I guess.” His warm eyes traveled slowly between hers. She lifted her hand to his cheek again. “It, um…it kind of scared the hell out of me. I’ve…never seen you like that. I…thought you were…” She swallowed and looked away briefly. “And then when Swineheart arrived…well, you know him, he’s _never_ worried, and even he thought you wouldn’t…I don’t know. It was just…awful.”

“Snow,” Bigby breathed, lifting his hand to her cheek, too. His thumb arced over her cheek reverently. “I’d…never leave you.”

Snow’s lips tugged into a small smile. Her heart was thudding wildly in her chest. Despite the fear and the blood and everything else, she decided to stop thinking so much. Seeing him so wounded had been a wake-up call. She didn’t want to waste any more time on uncertainty.

Snow closed the distance between them slowly. Bigby’s eyes danced back and forth between hers almost cautiously. She watched him, too, waiting for him to pull away, but he didn’t. His fingers tightened a little on her jaw, his eyes drifting to her lips and back up again. Snow moved closer, and Bigby’s breath caught in his throat.

She was careful not to hurt him, not to press into any of the dozens of wounds littering his torso as she continued to edge closer.

Bigby’s eyes fell to her lips again and back up, jasmine and vanilla nestling deep in his weak lungs. His heart was hammering painfully against abused ribs. His chest ached with the effort, but he couldn’t even process the pain. Snow waited a moment, searching his eyes before she closed hers and pressed her lips to his. Her kiss was soft, and Bigby released a quiet breath, his fingers curling gently on her cheek. Her lips moved slowly as his hand drifted around the back of her head. His fingers laced through her hair tenderly as his other hand rose to her cheek.

Snow’s breath rushed out of her, and she unthinkingly stepped forward, leaning into the kiss—and his chest. He winced, a low grunt slipping through his teeth as he instinctively pulled away. Snow jerked back, her eyes growing wide. “Oh God!” she gasped worriedly. “Bigby, I—”

The sheriff pulled her back to him and kissed her tenderly. She melted into it. Bigby’s fingers laced through her hair again. His other hand returned to her cheek, his thumb arcing over her skin softly. His breath ached as it rushed from weak lungs, but he didn’t care. He barely felt it. His mind became clouded with her—her scent, her taste, her breath—until there wasn’t room for anything else. He pulled back far enough to switch angles, and he gave a quiet sound when she gasped his name.

It was starting to hurt more—his chest, his lungs, his heart, his side. Everything throbbed in complaint and protest, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away again.

Snow kissed him breathlessly. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to remain locked in this moment forever. But she heard how ragged and uneven his breaths had become, and she felt the way his fingers began to tremble against her. She knew he was in pain, and she realized he was as reluctant as she was to stop. She gave herself and him another moment, and then she forced herself to do what he could not. She raised both her hands to his cheeks and pulled her lips off his. She kissed him once more softly, and then she pressed her forehead to his.

Bigby winced, his heart hammering too hard in his chest, but his lips twitched into a rare smile. “If I’d known all I had to do was get shot…”

Snow chuckled once and shook her head against him. “Shut up, you idiot.”

Bigby huffed a quiet laugh, and then he grunted. Snow looked up at him anxiously. His face was pinched in pain, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he stopped breathing. His fingers fell from her hair to his side absently, but his other hand kept her close, his thumb dancing across her skin again.

Snow pulled back reluctantly and took his hand. “Come on,” she murmured worriedly. “You’re lying down and resting—no, I don’t want to hear it, Bigby. No arguing. This is an official Fabletown order. You need to sleep. You need rest.”

Bigby’s quiet laugh turned into a cough that hurt so much, he thought he might actually fall over. Even still, he persisted. “I’m—fine, Snow. We have to keep—”

“Bigby,” she said firmly, raising a dark eyebrow at him.

Amusement freckled his agonized eyes, and he sighed. “Fine. An hour.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “ _Several_ hours.”

“Two.”

“ _Several_.”

“Two and a half.”

Snow rolled her tongue across her teeth. “Which one’s your room so I can lock you in it?”

Bigby huffed another painful laugh and gestured with his chin, lifting his free hand to his chest.

“You okay, Bigby?” Colin asked anxiously from the floor.

The sheriff grunted in response and nodded.

“You were…really fucked up, man. You looked like when you take an action figure and bend its limbs the wrong way.”

“Colin,” Snow complained, forcing the disturbingly accurate image from her mind.

“I’m just sayin’, I was worried about him is all.” Snow pushed the bedroom door open as Colin continued. “The guy hasn’t had a night’s rest in days, and—”

“Well, that’s changing now,” Snow replied firmly.

Bigby fell back on his bed with a grunt. His hand moved higher on his aching chest as his expression tightened. He looked over at Snow, taking in her clothes for the first time. “Shit…Sorry, Snow.”

She glanced down at her blood-caked layers and waved him off. “Just another Wednesday in Fabletown.”

Bigby’s chuckle made him cough and groan.

“Shh, I’m sorry. I won’t be funny. Just…get some rest, Bigby.”

Bigby’s smile was small and faded slowly. “We should really—” 

“ _Rest_ , Bigby. That’s an order. Everything will still be messed up in the morning, don’t worry. You need time to heal. You need to sleep.”

“You…” Bigby struggled against a sudden wave of exhaustion. “You should sleep, too.”

“Stop worrying about me, Bigby,” she murmured softly. “Sleep.”

The sheriff tried to resist. He tried to argue, but he couldn’t find the words. His eyes slipped closed, and before he could stop it, he was out.

Snow relaxed when his body grew limp. She breathed out slowly and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“He cares about you, you know,” Colin muttered unhappily from the doorway.

“I know,” Snow replied softly.

“As more than just a friend, I mean,” he continued with a frown. “This thing you’re doin’, leadin’ him on…it’s not right.”

Snow glared at the pig. “I’m not… _leading_ him on,” she replied hotly.

Colin’s eyebrows rose. “You’re tellin’ me you like the Big Bad Wolf.”

“I like _Bigby_ , Colin, and—”

The pig shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Look, it might not mean much to you, this thing you’re doin', playin' with his feelings. But I know it means a hell of a lot to him. Just…think on that before you—”

Snow’s temper flared. “Don’t presume to think you know a _thing_ about me or how I feel.”

“All I’m sayin’, Snow, is don’t string him along. You like him, great, but if you can’t accept him—and I mean _all_ of him—then this won’t work. I give him a lotta shit, I know, and he might’a been a bad guy back in the day, but he’s been tryin’ to turn that around, and he’s been tryin’ to do it for you. So…think about that before you decide to go ‘n break the guy’s heart any more than you already have. Bullets he can take, but that? I don’t know about that, Snow. I really don’t.”


	21. Chapter 21

Bigby woke to the sweet scent of jasmine and vanilla. He’d only managed to sleep a few hours, and he felt somehow even worse than before. Even still, he didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep; there simply wasn’t time for rest—not yet.

He frowned slowly and grunted quietly as he lifted a hand to the bridge of his nose. He pinched it and then rested his fingers against his eyes drowsily. There didn’t seem to be a single part of his body that wasn’t in some kind of pain. Sighing quietly, Bigby dropped his hand and opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Snow.

She obviously had left at some point to change and shower. Her black hair was still damp, and the scent of her shampoo lingered in the room. Her hair was loose for now, free from its usual chignon. She so rarely wore it like that; Bigby realized he’d forgotten how short her hair really was. It fell just past her shoulders, thick and wavy. Drier strands of it fell into her eyes as she slept. She’d changed into another skirt—a rich brown one that contrasted with her skin. Her jacket was black, and her blouse a striking cobalt. He imagined the color would make her eyes pop even more than usual, but he couldn’t confirm it yet. She’d dragged the chair in from his kitchen table to sit it close to the bedside. Her head was propped on one fist, her other arm draped over her stomach. A book lay open on her lap; clearly, she hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Bigby watched her a moment. The memory of her kiss was strong, but he honestly didn’t know if it hadn’t just been a dream. The scent of her was clouding his thoughts, confusing his memory until he was almost certain he must have dreamed the moment.

He didn’t want to wake her, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. There was too much to do. He tried to get up slowly and quietly, but his side felt like it split in half with the effort. A grunt slipped through his teeth, quiet but pained.

Snow’s eyes fluttered open, and she sat up quickly. “Bigby?” she mumbled thickly. She grimaced at her neck and placed a hand to it. “You okay? Do you need anything?”

“Would you—” Bigby winced and grunted again, pressing a hand to his side. “Could you hand me a shirt?”

Snow whipped around so fast that her book nearly fell. She caught it at the last instant and grabbed a shirt off one of the hangers in the closet—another white button-down.

He worked it over his bandaged shoulder stiffly, grimacing and grinding his teeth.

“What are you doing?” Snow demanded unhappily. “You better be cold.”

The sheriff snorted painfully. “We have to keep—”

“Uh-uh,” she interrupted. “ _No_. Get back in bed, Bigby. Dr. Swineheart said you need to rest. You need to let your body heal. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this!”

“Can’t stay in here all day,” he mumbled, slowly buttoning the shirt. The simple task was more difficult than he cared to admit.

Snow frowned at him and checked her watch. “You have slept exactly two hours and forty-five minutes, Bigby.”

The sheriff gave a small, wry smile. The memory of her lips against his was even stronger now. He really hoped it hadn’t been a dream. “You timed me?”

“I knew you’d try to pull something like this.”

Bigby snorted again. He was working on a comeback when Colin sat in the doorway.

“You’re up,” the pig mused.

Snow’s expression darkened. “No,” she replied curtly. “He’s not up. He’s going back to bed.”

“I’m up,” Bigby answered, glancing at Colin. “Something wrong?”

“You tell me. What’s this I hear about a Crooked Man taking over?”

The sheriff’s good humor vanished in an instant.

Snow glared at the pig. “Colin,” she said tightly, “ _not now_. We can talk about this later, after Bigby’s rested.”

The sheriff shook his head, his voice grim when he spoke. “The Crooked Man…Bloody Mary…the Tweedles. This is bigger than I thought.”

Snow looked at him and then sighed. “Yeah…the Crooked Man came out of the shadows for a reason, though. For him to attack us so blatantly like that…he either feels invincible or desperate.”

Colin snorted. “Well, if those are my two options, I don’t think I’d pick desperate.”

“What do you mean?” Snow demanded.

Bigby reached for a glass of water on his nightstand. Snow must’ve put it there. He honestly didn’t think he even _had_ glasses like this. In the back of his mind, he wondered if she’d brought it from her own apartment.

Colin gave Snow a cool look. “You traded Crane to save Bigby. That’s not somethin’ you do when you’re playin’ with house money.”

Snow huffed indignantly. “So he called my bluff!” she exclaimed, exasperated. Bigby got the impression this wasn’t the first time they’d had this argument. “It’s not like I was just gonna let Bloody Mary _murder_ Bigby! It was a split-second decision, and I don’t care how it looked. I’d make it again and twice on Sunday.”

Bigby set the drained glass back down and looked over at her. “Yeah, uh…Thanks, Snow,” he said softly, offering her one of his rare smiles. It was warmer than either Snow or Colin expected, and the pig grimaced at Snow again. “Thanks for all that back there. I…appreciate what you did for me.”

Snow returned his smile, letting her hand drift to his knee. “Of _course_ , Bigby. I—”

“ _Thanks_?” Colin repeated incredulously. “You’re not pissed that Crane’s flown the coop? Or that the Crooked Man thinks he’s got Snow under his thumb? You showed him _exactly_ what he has to do to get you to sit still like a good little girl. You do realize that, right?”

“Colin,” Bigby complained tiredly. “Knock it off.”

Snow swallowed down several scathing remarks. She ground her teeth and settled back in her chair angrily. A long moment passed before she looked up at Bigby again. She did her best to block the pig out of her mind as she continued. “What does the Crooked Man want out of this?” she wondered quietly. “I thought he was just a…a loan shark at most, but he’s clearly operating in other circles. It can’t just be about Crane, right? Getting him out of town? Is…this about the murders? Crane _can’t_ be useful to him anymore, but then why did he take him? Why were the Tweedles looking for him? Why did they want you to leave him alone? What does—”

“Take a breath,” Colin muttered.

Snow ignored him, her eyes falling to the bed. “How long has this been going on under our noses, Bigby? I mean, Crane was…what, _working_ with the Crooked Man? _Crane_?”

Bigby sighed wearily. “Guess that’s who Greenleaf was referring to.” He shook his head, his eyes locked on the floor. “I guess Crane just did whatever the Crooked Man told him to do. The embezzling, at least, but…this feels like it’s about control of Fabletown. Crane was in a position of power. Whoever needed his help got turned away—”

“And went to the Crooked Man instead,” Snow finished grimly. “But then what does this have to do with Faith and Lily?”

“I don’t know,” Bigby admitted with another heavy sigh. “I don’t know how this all fits together.”

Snow looked at her hands and played with her fingers absently. “The Crooked Man…declared _war_ on us last night. Or…at least, that’s what I thought when it happened, but I see now that this war had been going on for years. We just hadn’t noticed, because our way of doing things is…broken.” She shook her head, looking up at Bigby determinedly. “We need to start doing things the right way.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Colin demanded. “The ‘right’ way?”

“What do you _think_ I mean?” Snow snapped.

“I don’t know, but it sounds suspiciously like _your_ way. Bigby’s the one on the frontlines. You can’t give him a leash. He doesn’t work that way.”

“A little _restraint_ and thought behind things never hurt anyone, Colin,” Snow replied bitterly.

“Look,” Bigby sighed, trying to intervene. “I know things haven’t gone great lately, but…we’re still doing our best.”

Snow shook her head slowly, giving him a forlorn look. “That’s not good enough anymore, Bigby. Starting now…we have to do everything cut and dried. By the book. Straight as an arrow.” 

“Pure as driven snow,” Colin grumbled.

Snow frowned at him. “I’m not saying I’m the arbiter of—”

“Sure you’re not.”

“This town has _enough_ monsters!” Snow exploded, glaring at the pig. “What happened last night, what Bigby turned _into_ —” The sheriff looked away. Colin’s anger returned twofold when he saw the flicker of hurt. Snow noticed it, too. “I know you didn’t mean to,” she added softly. “They—that wasn’t you.” Colin shook his head, glaring at her bitterly. “But…Bigby, it…it can’t happen again.”

The pig scoffed. “Didn’t sound like he had much choice,” he bit back. “Besides, sometimes we _need_ monsters to fight monsters.”

Snow frowned at him. “Colin, if I really believed that we needed him to lose his flipping mind at a moment’s notice, then that would mean I’d lost all faith in our ability to help this town.” She turned to look at Bigby urgently. “Just…let that side of you be done, okay?”

The sheriff nodded slowly, but Colin could see it for the hollow gesture it was. “Yeah, Snow,” he replied, his voice hoarse to Colin’s ears.

The pig exhaled sharply, the sound faintly ironic. “You know, Snow, this is exactly what I was fuckin’ talkin’ about. It’s real fuckin’ easy for you to sit back ‘n judge Bigby, but way I understand it, they were trying to kill him. So, it’s okay for _you_ to turn a suspect over to save Bigby, but it’s not okay for him to change to save himself? Turnin’ ain’t always his choice. You ‘n I ‘n everybody else knows he’s been doin’ his best to—”

“I’ll do better,” Bigby said without looking at anyone.

“Bigby,” Colin argued. “Don’t let her—”

“ _We’ll_ do better,” the sheriff continued. “We have to be better than them, or…what’s the point?”

“Right,” Snow breathed gratefully, relaxing back into her chair. “Exactly. Thank you, Bigby, for understanding.”

Colin grew even angrier. He didn’t know if she was oblivious to the look in the sheriff’s eyes or if she was just deliberately ignoring it. “You know what, Snow White,” he said in a hard, bitter voice. “You sure as shit have good fuckin’ timing. Nearly getting himself killed trying to play things your way wasn’t good enough? Now you gotta drag him through the mud? Kick him while he’s already fuckin’ down?”

“I’m not dragging _anyone,_ Colin!” Snow snapped, glaring back at him. “I _obviously_ care about Bigby! I just want what’s best for this town. I’m sorry I’m the one who has to say these things, but there _isn’t_ anyone else! We can’t just keep ignoring problems because no one wants to talk about them. That’s how we landed in that mess last night! I care about _how_ things get done as much as I care about getting them done.”

Colin scoffed loudly. “So, for that, you wanna give him a handicap? Like the bad guys worry if shit gets sloppy? So then, next time, he can get killed? If he goes out there and gets into something, he’ll _die_ if you tell him he can’t change.” Colin shook his head disdainfully. “You know, you people never cease to amaze me. Everybody wants Bigby to smile and shave, say please and thank you, but none of you even bother to realize how hard he’s fuckin’ trying over here. I mean, sure, I know I’m not really all that different; I’m practically the president of the Bigby, Don’t Be Such a Dick club, but at least _I_ fuckin’ realize what he’s trying to build here. This is the wrong fuckin’ time to put shackles on him, like he hasn’t been fuckin’ doin’ that to himself for—”

“Relax, Colin,” Bigby said quietly. “Look, I can speak for myself, okay? And I agree with Snow.”

Colin ignored him. “He’ll get the job done. He always does. Just let him fuckin’ do it.”

“I’m _going_ to—” Snow sat back in her chair heavily, looking at Bigby now. “I’m going to let you ‘do it,’ okay? It’s just that…with Crane gone, I’m deputy mayor, and I _need_ your support. We have to be a team on this.”

“I know, Snow,” the sheriff nodded. His eyes were still on the wall. “You’re right.”

“This is just fuckin’ great,” Colin mumbled.

“And _this_ situation,” Snow added, giving Colin a bitter glare, “has to end.”

Colin narrowed his eyes. “ _What_ situation?”

Snow’s expression grew cold. “Starting today, all unglamoured Fables—”

“Oh, fuck you, Snow!”

“ _All_ unglamoured Fables have to go and _stay_ at the Farm.”

“Gimme a fuckin’ _break_!” Colin exploded as Bigby looked up at Snow sharply. “That’s—you can’t threaten me like that! I have as much a right to fuckin’ be here as—”

“It’s been the rule for a _reason_ , Colin,” Snow snapped. “And Bigby knows it’s for the best of the town. It keeps everybody out of trouble. We don’t need a mundy seeing you. They’ll start asking questions and—”

Colin’s loud scoff cut her off. “And what if a mundy _does_ see me, huh?! _I’m a fuckin’ pig_! Not a mouse with a cane and a fuckin’ top hat! They know what a fuckin’ pig is!”

“A talking pig who drinks whiskey and smokes,” Snow argued.

“ _In Bigby’s apartment_!” Colin shouted. “What’re they gonna do, come break down the door because they saw a fuckin’ pig through the window?! I don’t go anywhere! I don’t bother anyone! This is—”

“Look, just—” Bigby’s eyes flashed a little, his side throbbing. He leaned over to press one of his hands to the wall. Snow sat up worriedly. “Everyone just—calm down, alright?” the sheriff panted.

“Bigby, are you alright?” Snow asked urgently.

He nodded with a grunt. “Just—” He interrupted himself with another ragged cough.

Colin stepped forward anxiously. “Bigby?”

The sheriff coughed harder into his hand. He stood up wearily, pulling himself out of the room. Snow and Colin followed him, both calling his name as he staggered to the bathroom. He barely made it to the sink in time. He felt against the counter, knocking over toothpaste and deodorant.

Snow gasped at the bright blood he coughed up. “Bigby!” she cried, gripping his arm anxiously.

The sheriff gripped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white. Fire scalded down his side as his lungs forced blood up. He hacked up the last of it and fell against the counter weakly. “Shit,” he groaned, raising a hand to his forehead. His eyes slipped closed, and his legs didn’t seem to want to listen to him.

“Oh God, Bigby, p-please get back in bed!”

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he rasped, wiping blood from his chin. He cleared his throat with difficulty and turned the tap water on full blast. “I’m better.”

“I’m calling Dr. Swine—”

“No, it’s fine, Snow.”

Colin was pale in the living room. “Bigby, let her call the—”

The sheriff shook his head, rinsing out his mouth and washing his hands. “Shit…we have to get back to work.”

“No!” Snow argued. “No, you’re getting back into bed right—” The phone rang loudly near the front door. She glanced at Bigby anxiously and then stormed over to it. She picked it up off the hook irritably. “Wolf’s residence,” she snapped.

Colin made a face. “Well _that’s_ rude.”

“Knock it off, Colin,” Bigby sighed. He used a towel to dry his face and then slowly pulled himself back through the living room.

“Bufkin?” Snow muttered unhappily. “What is it?” There was a long silence. Bigby made it as far as the small kitchen table. He leaned against it tiredly, pressing his hand to his side. Colin sat beside him on the ground, giving him a concerned look. Snow sighed into the phone and nodded. “Okay, I’ll…yes, I’ll let him know. Thanks, Bufkin.” She hung up and turned around. “Guess who’s waiting in your office right now.” Bigby glanced up at her wearily. “Nerissa.”

The sheriff frowned. “Nerissa’s here?”

“That broad from the Pudding ‘n Pie?” Colin wondered.

“She okay?”

“I think so,” Snow answered. “Apparently, she told Bufkin she has something she needs to talk to you about. But that she’ll _only_ talk to you.”

Colin smirked at her smugly. “Uh oh. Bigby’s got an admirer. You always do well with the, uh, disenfranchised. Something about your prickly demeanor attracts them like moths to a flame. Girls like her just can’t resist your, uh, _charm_.”

Bigby frowned at the pig and then looked at Snow. “I’ll go talk to her.”

“No,” Snow argued. “You have to rest, Bigby. I’ll go tell her to come back when—”

“We don’t have time, Snow,” Bigby replied, shaking his head, “and you know it. We can’t let the Crooked Man get away with whatever the hell it is he’s doing in Fabletown. And I won’t keep Nerissa waiting. Coming here…probably wasn’t safe for her.”

Snow looked away unhappily, but she knew he was right. “Fine…I should get back to the Business Office. I’ve left Bufkin alone for far too long taking calls, but, Bigby, please…take it easy. Don’t push yourself.”

Bigby nodded.

Snow placed her hands on her hips. “Promise me you won’t push yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, Snow.”

That made her scowl, and she sighed. “Fine…Just…be careful, okay? Go slow.”

“He can take care of himself, _Mother_ ,” Colin huffed.

Snow glared at him and walked to the door. “Consider the discussion tabled but not over.” Her eyes flickered back to Bigby. “Let me know when you’re done with Nerissa.”

“Aye, aye, cap'n,” Colin muttered under his breath. She closed the door sharply, and Colin snorted again.

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes tiredly.

“She’s a piece’a work,” the pig grumbled. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Bigby.”

“Colin, would you just…shut up?” Bigby sighed. He pulled himself off the table and walked back into his room. He didn’t make it far before he sat on the edge of his bed, cursing at his side. His hair was greasy and smelled like rain and blood, and his skin was still caked in blood in some places. Grimacing, Bigby pulled himself up again and walked to the bathroom slowly. Colin followed him glumly, chewing his lip as he sat outside the open door and stared at the floor.

Bigby cursed under his breath with every other movement as he undressed slowly. He pulled most of his bandaging off, grimacing at each wound. Colin watched him with an exaggeratedly pained expression. Bigby slowly turned the shower on, stepping out of his tattered pants.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Colin wondered.

“No,” Bigby answered honestly.

“Great. Well. I’ll just be here when you fall over.”

“Thanks, Colin,” Bigby muttered grimly.

He stepped into the shower with difficulty, pressing a hand to his side with a hiss. Warm water stung at the wound, and his eyes flashed yellow briefly as he pressed a steadying hand to the wall.

“Shit,” he panted.

“Told you,” Colin muttered in the doorway. He looked down and knocked his hoof against the floor absently. “Hey…you, uh…you wouldn’t really send me to the Farm…would you? I mean…she seemed real serious about it, but…I can still hang out here, right?”

“Snow’ll change her mind,” Bigby said.

“And what if she doesn’t? You gonna let her pack me onto a truck? That’s it? Adios? Sayonara? Nice knowin’ ya?”

Bigby closed his eyes and pressed another hand to the wall, letting water pour over him painfully. He felt drained in every way possible. “She’s not a monster, Colin.”

“Never said she was,” the pig agreed casually. “No, uh, _dictator_ has a better ring to it.”

“Colin, enough,” Bigby sighed.

The pig winced again when he heard the sheriff hiss in pain. “Do, uh, do you need any help?” he offered. “Or some whiskey? Maybe a sedative?”

Bigby snorted and then coughed. “Shit—no, thanks.”

“Try not to…fall or something…Imagine the embarrassment.”

The water ran red with blood down the drain. Bigby washed his hair with one hand, the other pressing over the silver bullet wound. It was an agonizing process, but he felt a little better by the time he shut the water off.

The pig was gone when Bigby stepped out of the shower with a grunt. He found a towel stiffly and then slowly wound fresh bandages and gauze around his torso again. He walked stiffly back to his room to dress, but each movement sent a lance of pain up his spine. 

Colin noticed with a grimace. He watched the sheriff get ready grimly. “You sure you should be goin’ back out there? You can barely stand upright.”

“I’ll rest when this is over.”

“Famous last words.”

“I’ll be back…later, Colin,” Bigby replied, grabbing his keys. He released a quiet gasp at the way the movement stretched his wound, and then he ground his teeth together.

Colin shook his head unhappily. “You know they won’t appreciate what you’re puttin’ yourself through.”

Bigby frowned at him. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

Bigby didn’t answer. He opened the door and then sighed heavily before he glanced back at Colin. “Look, uh…you’re my…” He sighed again, grimacing at himself. “You’re my friend, Colin. I’m not gonna let them take you to the Farm, okay? Snow will change her mind, and if she doesn’t…” Bigby looked away. “Then…she’ll just have to go through me.”

Colin gave a slow smile as his gaze dropped. “Thanks, Bigby…Glad to know she doesn’t have you _completely_ wrapped around her little finger,” he added when the moment seemed heavy.

Bigby huffed once and winced. “Never mind. I take it back.”

Colin snorted. “Too late. You’ve already embarrassed yourself with sentimentality. We’re bonded for life.”

Bigby rolled his eyes and closed the door. He lifted a hand to his side again as he walked. As he neared the elevator, his good humor faded. He tried not to think back to the previous night, but it came back in flashes with every step. By the time the elevator doors slid open, his expression had hardened into one of determination. He dropped his hand and stepped through the doors, glaring as they closed again.


	22. Chapter 22

By the time Bigby reached the door to his own office, he was uncharacteristically winded. He took a second to catch his breath, wincing as he pressed a hand to his ribs.

“Fuck,” he complained. He waited until his side burned less, and then he cleared his throat and opened the door.

Nerissa was standing in the middle of the room, reading several posters pinned to Bigby’s bulletin board. She whipped around when he entered, like she’d been caught, and then she relaxed when she realized it was the sheriff. She tightened her fingers around the strap of her purse and released a quiet breath.

“Sorry for the wait,” Bigby said, moving around to sit at his cluttered desk.

“It’s no problem, Sheriff,” Nerissa replied softly. Her sad, sad eyes found his. “I honestly didn’t expect you for another few hours. I know you had a…rough night.”

Bigby gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Nerissa.”

She walked slowly to the one closer to him. She was clad in a short, tight dress that was probably intended to make her look older, but she was obviously uncomfortable with the choice. Her expression was far too young for the dress to be convincing, despite the sad maturity in her expression. Even the colorful flower that held her hair back on one side—which Bigby solemnly identified as a lily—did nothing to brighten her demeanor. Nerissa sat down and let her purse fall to the floor beside her. Her shoulders slumped forward a little in the same way adolescents tended to sit. She rubbed one of her arms softly, her movements nervous.

She glanced up at the sheriff, chewing the inside of her cheek. “I, um…are…are you okay?” she wondered softly, her amber eyes holding his. He felt another flicker of recognition—almost like déjà vu—but he didn’t know why. “You didn’t look good last night,” she continued in a low voice. “I…wasn’t sure if you’d…”

“I’m fine, Nerissa,” Bigby replied, folding his hands on the desk. “Thanks.”

The girl gave a sad smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” she admitted reservedly.

Bigby tried to ask her what brought her here, but he coughed instead and winced. He reached for a pack of cigarettes, trying to clear his throat with difficulty.

Nerissa didn’t comment on the irony of the choice. She looked down at her fingers in her lap, intertwining them loosely. Bigby pulled a cigarette from the pack with his lips and silently offered her one, wincing at the stretch.

Nerissa glanced at the box and winkled her nose. “Huff ‘n Puffs,” she mused, giving him a sardonic smile. She reached into her purse for her own pack and slipped one out. “Not many people smoke those.” She peeked at him, as if to make sure he knew it was a joke.

Bigby snorted quietly and lit his cigarette with one hand. Nerissa met him halfway so he could light hers, too. Amber eyes flared a little more brilliantly in the fire as she watched him. Déjà vu swept over him again, more powerfully, and he frowned.

“Thanks,” Nerissa smiled softly, settling back down in her chair.

“So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” Bigby wondered. He coughed once more, and his wound flared in protest.

Nerissa looked down again, her good humor vanishing. She crossed her legs and smoked silently.

“You helped when you sent me to the Open Arms. Are you…here to help me again?”

“There’s not much I can talk about,” she replied slowly, her expression growing unbearably sadder. “You know that.”

Bigby looked down briefly. “So, that spell Crane was trying to break…it’s not just while you’re at work.”

Nerissa closed her eyes and took a long drag. She blew the smoke away in a subtle, almost childlike way. When she opened her eyes again, there was a hardened resolve in them. “What I mean is…I don’t want to waste your time,” she said slowly, deliberately. She lifted a hand absently to her neck to play with the purple ribbon. “But I don’t want you to waste your _own_ time, either.”

“I think I understand,” Bigby said quietly, leaning forward a little. “You…can’t talk to me. But…if I can ask it the right way, maybe you don’t have to.”

Nerissa’s eyes tightened. “You can try. I just…” She shook her head and let her hand fall back to her lap. “Go ahead. It…might work.”

She looked so uncertain, so dejected, that Bigby had to look away. “Is this about the Crooked Man?”

Nerissa’s shoulders fell a little. “These lips are sealed.” She took another drag. “If I could answer you just like that, I wouldn’t have had to make that appointment with you.”

“No,” Bigby sighed. “I guess not.”

The girl looked a little frustrated. She glanced away and then leaned back in her chair, crossing one of her arms over her stomach. “Sometimes,” she murmured softly, her eyes falling to the desk. “Sometimes, we have to find our way through life on our own, grasping and fumbling in the dark. I…” Her expression grew so sad that Bigby thought she might cry. Instead, she exhaled slowly. It sounded even more pained than a sob. “I used to have friends to help me find my way, Sheriff. But now…they’re gone. And I don’t know what to do.”

Bigby’s gaze drifted to the flower in her hair, and he recalled the photo he’d found. “Faith and Lily,” he said quietly.

Nerissa closed her eyes. “What I’m saying, Sheriff, is friends _matter_. And I…I don’t have any left.” She looked up slowly. “So, I hope you’re looking after yours.”

The sheriff hesitated. “Are my friends in trouble?” He only had two. 

Nerissa deflated. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I thought I could do this. I…I thought this would work.” Her eyes flooded, and she gave him a desperate look. “I need you to know, I-I _want_ to help, but…but…”

“But your lips are sealed,” Bigby finished grimly.

The girl closed her eyes and took another drag. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn’t react to them. She breathed out a long trail of smoke and cupped her hand around her neck loosely. “I’m…sorry if I’m wasting your time. I thought I knew how to say it.” She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

“Your ribbon,” Bigby murmured. “Faith wore one, too.”

Nerissa looked up at him sharply, hope stealing into her eyes. “Do you like it?” she asked in a tight voice as she fingered it.

The way she looked at him reminded him so strongly of Faith that he felt like shit. “How can I?” he wondered. “It’s a tool meant to keep you stuck in that life. Subservient.” Bigby’s eyes widened a little. Faith had looked so disappointed when he’d offered an uncertain compliment. He glanced at Nerissa again, and he felt like a goddamn idiot. How many times had she played with it? How many times had she tried to draw attention to it? “It’s the ribbon, isn’t it?”

Nerissa just looked at him, her expression growing tortured. She didn’t confirm it, but the tears flooding her eyes said enough.

Bigby put his cigarette out and rested his head in his hands for a long moment, thinking. When he looked back up, Nerissa was still watching him, waiting, hoping. The sheriff stood slowly and walked around the desk. He leaned against it beside Nerissa, and she lifted her big, sad eyes to his.

He eyed the ribbon for a long moment. There didn’t seem to be anything magical about it, and he wondered if there wasn’t a simple solution. He recalled an ancient story from the Homelands about a magical spell that kept a girl from leaving her home by a curse that left her monstrous. The spell was only broken when someone else, of their own volition, came to her home and agreed to sit down to dinner with her.

The sheriff reached for the ribbon. “Can’t we just—”

Bigby heard Nerissa’s heart lurch in her chest a split second before she screamed. “ _No! These lips are sealed_!” She pulled away from him so violently that her chair tipped over. She crashed to the ground with a loud sob and trembled as she raised a protective hand to her neck.

Bigby jumped up. “Nerissa!”

“You can’t!” she cried hoarsely, cringing away from him. “Just—j-just stay back!”

“I’m sorry,” he said with wide eyes, spreading his hands. “Nerissa—”

She gasped and shook her head. He heard her heart hammering impossibly fast. “You can’t _do_ that,” she whimpered. “You can’t—y-you can’t do that—you—”

“Slow down,” Bigby said gently, crouching in front of her. It hurt so much that he grabbed the desk to steady himself, his other hand pressing against his side. “I’m sorry. It’s alright, Nerissa. I’m not gonna do anything.”

She weakened. “Please,” she cried, shaking her head in fear. Her entire body quaked. “Please…”

Bigby held his hand out to her. “I’m sorry, Nerissa. It’s okay. I’m not…I won’t hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Nerissa looked at him with terrified eyes. She reached out slowly and took his hand. Her fingers trembled so violently that Bigby’s chest grew tight.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated gently, lifting her carefully to her feet. His ribs ached in complaint, but he ignored them. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He picked up her chair, and she sat down again shakily. She pulled at the end of her dress that had ridden up with one hand, keeping the other firmly on her neck. Bigby crouched beside her, looking up at her. He tried to get her to meet his eyes, but she hunched over, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Okay,” he murmured quietly. “I get it. If you take the ribbon off…”

Nerissa gasped, her breath shaking out of her in silent, wracking sobs.

Bigby hesitated and then placed a hand on her arm. “I’m gonna fix this, Nerissa. I promise.”

She looked up at him. She didn’t say a word, but Bigby could read everything in her expression. Her eyebrows pulled together, and he realized she believed him.

There was a light knock at the door, and Nerissa jolted in her seat. She lurched to her feet and pressed against the desk with terrified eyes.

“It’s alright,” Bigby said quickly, standing beside her.

Nerissa shook her head, and when she spoke, her voice wavered. “I-if anyone finds out I came here…”

“It’s probably just Snow,” Bigby murmured in a calm tone. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me, Nerissa. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He went to get the door, but Nerissa grabbed his arm. Her fingers were freezing as she laced them around his wrist, her eyes still wide.

“Sh-Sheriff, can…can you keep this conversation between us? I could be in a lot of…” Her voice wavered again. “I could be in a _lot_ of trouble. Please.”

He gave her a sad look. “I’ll have to…Is it okay if I tell Snow? She’s working with me on this case, but she won’t tell anyone else, I promise.”

Nerissa’s eyebrows pulled together, and she nodded. “O-okay. Okay…but…but no one else. Please, Sheriff. I…please.”

Bigby looked at her closely. “Why don’t you stay in my apartment?” he offered. “Just until this is over. I won’t be there, and you’ll be safe. No one would look for you there.”

Her amber eyes filled, and she looked like she desperately wanted to accept. “I-I can’t be gone long,” she said, shaking her head. “B-but…thank you, Sheriff.”

“Is there—”

The door swung open. Bigby and Nerissa looked over at Snow. Nerissa dropped her hand from the sheriff’s wrist and backed up several steps. She hung her head and sat back down in her chair.

“Sorry,” Snow said to her softly. “I…just need to talk to the sheriff for a moment. Please excuse me.”

“One minute,” Bigby added in a gentle tone. He followed Snow to the door and leaned against its frame, glancing back at Nerissa once. She moved her hand back to her ribbon and closed her eyes.

Snow looked at her, too, and stepped closer to Bigby. “Is she alright?”

Bigby shook his head silently.

Snow grimaced. “I…might have a new lead for you,” she said quietly, “but I don’t know how solid it is.”

“What is it?”

“Beauty and Beast just called the office. They said they wanted to talk to you about something, but they—”

Bigby looked back when he heard Nerissa stand abruptly. She grabbed her purse off the floor and walked close to his side.

“Thank you for listening, Sheriff. You should go to your next appointment,” she said. “I don’t think you’ll be wasting your time.”

Bigby nodded. “I understand. Nerissa…the offer stands, if you change your mind. There’s a spare key under the doormat, okay? You’ll be safe there.”

Nerissa’s eyes flooded again as she lowered them to his chest. Her chin trembled. “Thank you, Sheriff. That’s…very kind. But…I-I…can’t.”

Bigby breathed out slowly. “Just…look after yourself, alright?” His eyes flickered to her ribbon again. “I’m gonna take care of this, Nerissa.”

She looked up at him and nodded slowly. “Please be careful, Sheriff,” she replied in a thick voice. She inclined her head towards Snow and then walked hurriedly down the hall.

“Wait,” Snow called after her. “Nerissa—you don’t have to go; I didn’t mean to—”

Nerissa slipped around the corner, her head and shoulders low.

Snow sighed and looked at Bigby. “That was…sudden.”

“It’s her only way of sending a message.”

Snow frowned in confusion and followed Bigby back into his office. “What did she tell you? I didn’t mean to rush her out…”

“It’s the ribbons,” Bigby sighed heavily.

“What is?”

“The girls can’t talk because of the ribbons. When I tried to take hers off…” Bigby shook his head. “I think…I think that’s how Faith and Lily died.”

Snow’s eyes widened. “ _What_?” she gasped.

“The ribbon in Faith’s mouth…I think…I think she and Nerissa have been trying to tell me for a while now.”

Snow sat down in Nerissa’s chair. “That’s…Jesus.” She shook her head. “Good, uh…good work, Bigby. God. How…horrible.”

Bigby reached for another cigarette and lit it swiftly. Snow thought about reprimanding him for smoking with weak lungs, and she understood the comfort it brought. She knew they couldn’t actually harm him; Fables weren’t that fragile.

“What were you talking about?” she wondered. “What offer?”

“Told her she could stay at my place for a while, ‘til we get this all figured out,” Bigby muttered, shaking his head. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “She’s terrified. Traumatized.”

Snow softened. “That was…very kind of you, Bigby,” she murmured.

Bigby looked down unhappily. He took another long drag. “She’s just a fuckin’ kid…We have to get her out of that place.”

“We will,” Snow promised. “Which…leads me to my next question. Beauty and Beast. Do you think it’s a waste of time? Do you think they heard about last night, and they’re just scared? Or do you think they might actually know something?”

“Nerissa’s pointing us in that direction,” Bigby replied. “If she says it’s worth checking out, there must be something there. I’ll head over now.”

Snow nodded and followed Bigby out of his office. He locked the door and slipped his keys back into his pocket. Snow frowned as she walked him to the elevator. “You know, Beauty came to me a while back. She was looking for…financial assistance. I told her there was nothing I could do, and…and she said that meant she’d have to go somewhere else.” Snow’s expression darkened as she pressed the button for the elevator. “I guess we know who she meant now.”

Bigby sighed unhappily and took another long drag.

Snow shook her head. “We need to solve this before something else happens…God.”

The doors opened, and Bigby tried to step inside. Snow caught his arm and held the door with her foot.

“Are you…okay?” she asked quietly.

“Sure, Snow.”

“I mean…are you in pain? Is there anything you need? Medicine or…”

“I’ll be fine.”

Snow’s expression softened even as she sighed. “Please be careful, Bigby.”

“Promise, Snow.”

She raised a hand to his cheek, and he looked at her with softer eyes. “I mean it,” she murmured. “Don’t…don’t get hurt. Just…take it easy today, okay?”

Bigby nodded, searching her ocean eyes. He really hoped it hadn’t been a dream.

Snow smiled gently, as if reading his thoughts. She glanced down the hall once and then leaned up to kiss his cheek. Jasmine and vanilla filled his lungs even past the smoke, and he closed his eyes briefly. “Let me know if you find anything.”

Bigby gave a rare smile. “’Course, Snow.”

Her answering smile was beautiful. He watched it a second too long before she stepped back, and he moved into the elevator. Her ocean eyes stayed on his. As the doors slid closed, he saw a mix of concern and something softer he didn’t know quite how to read overwhelm her expression.


	23. Chapter 23

As soon as Bigby stepped off the elevator, he could hear Beauty and Beast arguing. He sighed heavily. Despite his heightened hearing, he couldn’t quite make out their words. Clearly their apartment afforded them better privacy. He did hear his own name shouted by Beast, though, and he heard Beauty give a frustrated, wordless cry in response.

He stood outside their door, gathering all the patience he had left, and then he pounded on the wood loudly.

The argument cut off immediately. Utter silence filled the hallway for several long moments. Bigby was on the verge of knocking again when the door cracked open.

Beast peered out past the chain and scowled. “Oh. Great. What do you want?”

“You called, right?” Bigby sighed. “Or, uh, Beauty. One of you.”

“Why would _I_ ever call _you_?”

Bigby raised a hand to his eyes and then swept back loose strands of damp hair irritably. “Listen, I’ve had a shitty night—”

“You think you’re the only one?”

“—and I really don’t want to deal with the runaround,” Bigby finished through his teeth. “Snow said you called and wanted to talk to me.”

“Well, _I_ didn’t call you. Must’ve been Beauty. She’s been…surprising me a lot lately.”

“Fine, then can I—”

“So have you, Bigby,” Beast continued bitterly. “Yet, even with all the sneaking around and secrets, somehow _I’m_ still the bad guy in this! I’ve had to hear about it all night long from _her_.”

“Look,” Bigby grumbled, “I don’t mean to be rude here, but I don’t have the time or the patience for your marital problems. I’m only here because _someone_ called for me, but if you just want to—”

“Who is it?” Beauty called from inside the apartment.

“Look, can I just talk to Beauty?” Bigby sighed heavily.

Beast glared at him. He slammed the door shut, and Bigby shook his head. The chain rattled on the other side, and then the door flew open again. “It’s your pal _Bigby_ ,” Beast spat, walking past his wife angrily.

“Hi, Bigby,” Beauty greeted with a strained smile. “Please excuse us for just a minute?” She turned to her husband and spoke through her teeth. “Can I talk to you in private?”

“Yes,” Beast agreed bitterly, opening the bedroom door. “ _Let’s_.”

Beauty glanced at the sheriff. “Come in, Bigby. Make yourself at home. This won’t take long.”

Bigby shook his head at the ceiling as she disappeared, and then he entered the rather cold apartment. He closed the door and pressed a hand to his eyes as he walked into the living room. When he looked up, he gave a low whistle and then grimaced. No wonder they were having money problems. The apartment was easily as fancy as Crane’s penthouse, if a third of the size. Even still, it was enormous.

“Guess I really _do_ have the smallest apartment in the Woodlands,” Bigby muttered under his breath.

The French furnishings were lined with wood. They hardly looked worn, but he could tell they weren’t exactly new, either—perhaps just seldom used. The thick, shaggy rugs were pristine. The marble fireplace in the corner of the room was lit, fire raging despite the heat outside. Cold air blasted through the vents, causing the thick, red curtains over the windows to flutter stiffly. The mantle over the fireplace held all manner of old belongings, including a tall glass vial with a rose sitting in the center.

The room was decorated with at least a dozen massive paintings hung on the wall. Many of them featured the couple or depicted what their mansion must have looked like back in the Homelands. All were gilded with the same thick, heavy frames. Several lamps lit the room, as the curtains blocked out sunlight, casting long shadows across the corners of the gold and red wallpaper.

Bigby heard Beauty and Beast arguing back and forth clearly through the door. Their voices raised to loud whispers, and he rolled his eyes. Did _no one_ remember how good his hearing was? If it wasn’t for Nerissa’s hint, he would have left already.

“What is he even doing here?!” Beast snapped. “We don’t need to bring him into this!”

“Beast!” Beauty complained.

“I just don’t think we can trust him!”

“Is this seriously still about last night?! I explained that already! I was just helping—”

“I know, I know!”

“Then what is your _problem_ with him?!”

“If he’d been lying to you, you’d have a problem, too! He’s not trustworthy.”

“ _I_ trust him.”

“Of course you do! He was keeping secrets for you!”

“Oh my God,” Beauty groaned. “It was _one little thing_! Do you seriously want to keep fighting about that, or do you want to try to sort this mess out?”

“We can handle this on our own. We always have. You didn’t have to run and call him here!”

“We’re out of money! And answers! _That’s_ why I called him. You know what, we’ll finish this later. We’re talking to Bigby, and that’s the end of it.”

“Fine,” Beast snapped. “Talk to your precious Bigby. You two deserve each other.”

“Oh my _God_ , Beast.”

The door burst open, and Bigby turned around tiredly.

“Sorry,” Beauty murmured in a reserved tone. She came into the room and crossed her arms. “It’s…been a long night.”

Beast made a face. “Yeah, you know what they say. Centuries of marriage come with centuries of baggage.”

Bigby chose not to comment on that. Instead, he gestured to the room. “Gotta say, your place looks, uh, expensive,” he muttered, choosing a deliberately indelicate tone.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Beast snarled defensively.

“Beast!” Beauty chastised.

“No, really, I want to know! What are you trying to say, huh? Did you come here to give us an appraisal? Decorating tips?!”

“Thought you were having money problems,” Bigby shrugged, turning to gesture at the paintings. He thought of Nerissa and the little flower in her hair. Faith and the bruises darkening her skin. Lily and the lilacs in her cold palm. He thought of Greenleaf’s tree, and Mr. Toad’s ratty cardigans. “Doesn’t look like you’re suffering to me.”

Beast grabbed Bigby’s shoulder and wrenched him around violently. Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow at the pain, and he bent over. His hand flew to his side as he staggered to the desk nearby, hissing quietly.

“Bigby!” Beauty exclaimed, shoving her husband back several steps. “Bigby, are you okay?”

“Look,” the sheriff grumbled through his teeth. He stood up straight and glared furiously at Beast. “I didn’t come here for your bullshit. Snow told me you went to her for help, but she turned you down. Did you go to the Crooked Man, yes or no?”

Beauty refolded her arms. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she said in a small voice, “so after I went to Snow, I—”

“No,” Beast snapped. “We should deal with this on our own! Bigby’s just going to complicate things.”

“ _I_ called him here, because _I_ want to see if he can help us! We’re in trouble! We have no other options, Beast.”

The sheriff paced slowly back and forth, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“Why are you being like this?” Beauty demanded, glaring at her husband.

“I’m just trying to do what’s best for us! That’s all I _ever_ do!”

“Oh really?” Beauty scoffed. “Is that why you’ve been _drinking_ again?!”

“You said you wouldn’t bring that up!”

“ _You_ said you—”

“Will you two just shut up?!” Bigby exploded, coughing once. He continued through his teeth. “What _kind_ of trouble are you in?”

Beauty and Beast looked at him in surprise, but Beast recovered quickly. “I have to know something first.”

“What, I gotta try out for you?” the sheriff growled.

“Yeah, actually. What if we _did_ have something to say about the Crooked Man? What if we talk, and you don’t get him, and this comes back on us?” Beauty turned to Bigby with worried eyes. “We’d be risking a lot. We’ve _seen_ what happens when you cross the Crooked Man.”

Nerissa flashed through the sheriff’s mind again, along with a jolt of anger. “You think you’re the only ones in danger here? If you have information on that crooked bastard, I need to hear it. Otherwise, I’ve got better things to do.”

“No!” Beauty cried, stepping in front of him. “Wait, please don’t go.”

“Then tell me what the fuck is going on! You’re in so much debt? Fucking look around this place! This isn’t the way people short on cash live!”

“Look,” Beast snapped, “we’re just used to a certain kind of lifestyle, okay?!”

“Are you kidding me?”

“We couldn’t just give that up!”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?”

Beauty looked at Bigby imploringly. “We never meant for things to get like this! It’s just…we had _nowhere_ else to turn. The Business Office couldn’t help us, and…and the Crooked Man could. And we got in over our heads.”

“There’s not a lotta work out there,” Beast added. “Who would we _be_ if we just lived like common—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Bigby warned ominously.

“I’m just saying that we—”

The phone rang loudly, cutting Beast off. Bigby would have ignored it if the married couple hadn’t given it such a terrified look.

“Who is that?” he demanded.

Beauty paled, and Beast looked at her anxiously.

Bigby went to pick it up, and Beast lunged forward. “No, wait!” he cried, grabbing the sheriff’s arm.

Bigby pushed him off roughly, grasping his side. “Fuck,” he panted as his eyes flashed again briefly.

The machine picked the call up after a couple rings.

“Hi, there!” Beauty’s voice rang out. “You’ve reached Beauty…”

“And Beast!”

“And we’re out doing something fabulous!”

“A day at the beach?”

“Skiing the slopes?”

“Whatever it is, we can’t come to the phone right now!”

“So, leave a message at the beep, and we’ll get back to you as soon as is—” Both of them laughed. “— _humanly_ possible! Beep!”

Bigby heaved a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Beast started forward. “Let me just—”

The sheriff stopped him with an arm.

“That _fucking_ message!” the man on the machine roared. “I’m gonna come down there and bash your fucking head in with that machine if I have to call again and hear that _fucking_ message one more _fucking_ time!” The man calmed himself with an indignant huff. “Look, I been doin’ this long enough to know that if you had the cash, you’d’ve paid by now.”

“Who is that?” Bigby demanded again.

The couple looked at each other silently.

“So,” the man continued, “consider yourself outta warnings. It’s time to think about how else you can settle this, ‘cause next time, I’m makin’ a house call. The Crooked Man’s gonna get his. One way or another.”

He hung up, and Bigby turned to the others. “Who do I talk to?” he growled. “Where do I go?”

Beauty and Beast embraced each other. Beauty leaned her head against her husband’s chest and looked at the sheriff solemnly. “The Lucky Pawn,” she answered softly. “That’s where I borrowed the money. The Crooked Man’s behind that place. I’d overheard people talking to Jersey about loans before, so…when I needed money…that’s where I went. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Wait, Jersey?” Bigby repeated. “That slimy prick Jersey Devil?”

Beauty nodded against Beast.

The sheriff cursed. “Great. I didn’t realize he was back on this side of the river. That’s…that’s just fucking great.” He shook his head. “Did you ever see the Crooked Man there?”

“No,” Beauty sighed. “Just Jersey. And those Tweedles are always going in and out of there, probably dropping off a loan payment they squeezed out of some poor Fable. But never the Crooked Man. Mainly, it’s just regular Fables. I’ve seen Jack there, too, but…I think he just mostly sells stuff to Jersey—random things he, uh…obtains.” Beauty closed her eyes. “I can see now that it was a mistake, but…I’m not the only one who goes there. I even saw the Woodsman’s axe there yesterday.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was in a display case.”

“Guess _he’s_ hit hard times, too,” Beast grumbled. “Lot of that going around.”

Something about his tone and the fact that they were literally standing in a room with more gold in it than most modern banks made Bigby want to punch Beast in the goddamn face.

Instead he looked away darkly. “He’d never pawn his axe.”

“It was there,” Beauty replied. “I’m sure of it.”

“Fuckin’ Bloody Mary must go through there.”

“ _What_?”

“She had Woody’s axe last night. Tried to chop my damn head off with it.”

Beast blinked. “Boy, you, uh…you weren’t kidding about having a rough night.”

Beauty swallowed anxiously. “Maybe if you go there, you can sort some things out.”

The sheriff nodded. “I’ll try the pawn shop. If he’s not there…maybe I can make enough noise to draw the Crooked Man out.”

“Hang on, Bigby,” Beast said quickly. “If you go there, it sounds like you’ll just Beauty into trouble! And…”

Bigby glared at him. “And _what_? Where the fuck else am I supposed to go?”

Beast sighed. He took Beauty’s hand and pulled her down to one of the fancy couches. He looked at her and then the sheriff. “You know that butcher shop, the Cut Above? The place on Tubman street? Same block as the baker and the candlestick maker? Near the—”

“I fucking know it,” Bigby growled. “What about it?”

“Well, I’ve been…delivering packages from there for a while now. The thing is…it’s…for the Crooked Man. And…I don’t think it’s meat in those packages.” Bigby’s glare became frightening. “You gotta understand, I needed the work!”

“You have to believe us!” Beauty nodded vehemently. “We didn’t think it would get like _this_!”

“We’re _decent_ people, Bigby! You know us! We’re not like those—”

“Listen to me very carefully,” the sheriff interrupted in a low, angry voice, “because my bullshit is just about full. Did you ever deliver anything to the Crooked Man? Do you have an address or a—”

“No,” Beast replied, shaking his head. “No, I delivered to places all over town—business and apartments alike—but never to the same place and never to the big man himself.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“It goes different places, but it all comes out of the butcher shop.”

Bigby shook his head. “ _How_ did you get _involved_ in this?” he demanded.

“Johann the butcher called one day. He had a problem with his refrigeration unit, but when I finished, it was your pal Mary who showed up to pay me.” Bigby’s expression darkened. “She said I was reliable. She said she liked that, and…well…”

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?”

“It’s the only thing I’ve been able to pick up! And even then, it’s _still_ not enough! I don’t want Beauty to have to work! Especially not where she is now! It’s up to _me_ to take care of her!”

“And what great care you’ve taken,” Bigby growled. “You’ve been doing their goddamn dirty work and looking the other way.”

“Work is work, Bigby! All I do is deliver stuff! I just…wanted to provide for Beauty the kind of life she deserves!”

“Great, so, instead of just letting her work, you picked up with criminals. This just keeps getting better.”

“Well, now, hold on just a minute, Big—”

“You deal with Bloody Mary?”

Beast frowned at him. “No, Johann is the one who hands over the packages. You know, the day-to-day. But I’ve seen her around. She, uh…gets under my skin, you know? I try to avoid her as much as I can.” Beast grimaced. “Well, I guess I don’t need to tell _you_ what she’s—”

“You’re goddamn right you don’t,” the sheriff said through his teeth. “I don’t need a fucking rundown on her reputation.”

Beauty looked down. “We shouldn’t have to live like this. _Scraping_ just to get by.”

Bigby glared at the gilded frames.

“None of us should have to live this way!” Beast agreed, standing up to get in the sheriff’s face. “We were _royalty_ once! We’re accustomed to a certain lifestyle! We shouldn’t have to live like the common—”

“You need to stop talking right now,” Bigby warned.

“All we want is to make this place feel just a little bit like home, Bigby! You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never had a wife to take care of or a home to—”

“Fuck off, Beast.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way! You…have your own thing going on. But—we’re just tired of living like this. It’s that Snow White’s fault that we—”

Bigby silenced him with a deadly look. “Now is really not the time for you to test my patience.”

Beast scowled at him and crossed his arms. “Fine. Then where are you going? The butcher’s or the pawn shop?”

“Why the fuck do you care?”

“If this goes sideways, I’d like to know where it’s coming from!”

Bigby released an angry sigh. “I’m going to the butcher shop first,” he muttered on his way out. He wrenched the door open and stormed down the hallway—not fast enough.

“Wait!” Beast called, chasing him down. “Bigby, wait. I don’t know what you’re planning to do when you find the Crooked Man, but…is there any way you could just…help us out?”

Bigby turned around slowly.

“Maybe you could just…make this all…go away.”

“We would…really appreciate it,” Beauty nodded.

“Are you—” Bigby scowled at them. “You’re asking me to kill him, aren’t you? Is _that_ what you think I do?!”

Beauty scoffed, offended. “No! Of _course_ not!”

“I don’t know how you got _that_ idea,” Beast added innocently. “We just…we know that the Crooked Man is…dangerous. To all of Fabletown. Even to people that you care about. Anyone could get caught up in this. You never know.”

Bigby’s temper flared. “Is that a threat?”

“What! Of course not! I just mean…things happen!”

“I’m gonna do my _job_ ,” Bigby muttered through his teeth. He hit the elevator button too hard and glared at the doors. “Lucky for you, that might just solve your problem anyway.”

“Oh, _thank you_ , Bigby,” Beauty sighed in relief.

Beast came to the elevator as the sheriff stepped inside. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” he mumbled, “in the end.”


	24. Chapter 24

It was close to noon when Bigby walked into the Cut Above. A small bell over the door announced his arrival cheerily. The sheriff took a long drag of his cigarette and made a face at the _No Smoking_ sign on the counter. With a sigh, he put it out.

The shop was quiet and cold with no one in sight. Bigby tried to hear if there was activity behind the double doors beyond the counter, but he was struggling. He didn’t know if his senses were dulled after the toxic shock he’d endured or if the place really was abandoned.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the butcher shop wasn’t really functioning as one anymore. The storefront was bare of not only people but advertisement. A chalkboard behind the counter—one originally intended to announce daily specials—had little more than the faded memories of previous words. What meat remained in the refrigerated counter was glazed over with a thick layer of ice, little crystals catching and reflecting the sunlight beaming in. The ticker reel over the counter was devoid of the very tickets that gave it a purpose. And if all of that wasn’t enough, blurring layers of dust covered the register’s keys.

The sheriff rested a hand on the counter. He was about to ring the service bell when the double doors in the back swung open.

A large, balding man emerged with a whistle through his lips. It was a cheerful tune that fizzled out as soon as he saw Bigby. His hands froze on his apron, and his eyes widened.

“Bigby Wolf?” he greeted nervously. His eyes darted to something on the edge of counter near the refrigerated display, and then he blinked and smiled. “Welcome, Sheriff! What a treat this is! What can I get for ya? You interested in, uh, in a particular cut, maybe?”

Bigby crossed his arms with more difficulty than he cared to admit and frowned at the butcher silently.

Johann swallowed audibly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s see,” he murmured, walking behind the display. “What do we have here…Let’s, uh…see what we got, hm? Flank steak on special…New York strip, uh…Oh, I can have some wild boar in tomorrow if ya like! Not…not too hard to get…” Bigby rested a hand on the display, ignoring the stab of pain in his side. “Uh, sirloin…ribs…r-roast? Tongue! Got some…some tongue here, if you, uh…I could get some—”

“Johann,” Bigby said with deliberate leisure, “you know why I’m here.”

The butcher swallowed. “For some…meat?”

Bigby’s glower grew menacing. “I want to know _exactly_ what’s going on in this shop.”

The butcher laughed nervously. “We sell, uh, meat? Did you want to buy something? We, uh, we got plenty in back, if…if you don’t like what you see here.” The butcher played with his hands before he rested one of them on the display, too. His eyes darted down and to the left of the counter again, and then he smiled. “What you see is…what you get here. Just meat. I don’t sell anything else.”

“Johann,” the sheriff warned.

“Wholesale! We do, uh, more wholesale and meat packing than, uh, walk-up service. Which is…why the place is, uh…” He cleared his throat. “That’s about it, though. I’d like to help ya. Really, I would, but there’s nothing to, uh…see here. Meat, meat, more meat. You know how it is with these…butcher shops.”

“Then you don’t mind if I take a look around.”

“What? I—n-no,” Johann replied, his forehead damp in the cold room. “Of course not, Sheriff. Look around. In fact, I insist.”

“Good.”

The butcher faltered. “But, you know, before you—wait!” He jerked a little. “D-did you hear that?”

Bigby sighed. “No.”

The butcher hurried past the display, pressing a hand to the counter as he went. “Oh, I’m just real sorry, Sheriff! I think I hear the delivery truck. I’ve been waiting for it to show! Hold on, I-I just gotta go check that. Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back!”

“Butcher,” the sheriff growled.

“I’ll only be a minute! Just wait right—” He disappeared through the doors without finishing.

Bigby leaned over the counter, grimacing at the stretch, to see a little red button under the display. He cursed, lifted the movable counter up, burst through the double doors, and then pulled to a slippery stop on the slick floor.

Dozens of animal carcasses were hanging upside down from meat hooks. Ice cold air swirled around Bigby in long tendrils. His breath steamed out of him in long bursts as he frowned. He cursed again, resting a hand against his aching chest as he pushed through the skinned and drained bodies.

“Butcher,” he called loudly.

“Oh, uh, I got it covered back here, Sheriff! I’ll be right out! Just wait out front! I’ll be right there!”

Bigby shoved cold flesh out of his way angrily, trying to determine from which direction the butcher’s voice had come. On a good day, it would have been a simple matter, but his senses were alarmingly delayed and dulled. To make matters worse, the bodies muffled the butcher’s voice and threw it around the room.

“I-I’ve got a bit of a mess back here! Look, uh, c-can you come back tomorrow, maybe?”

“Johann, cut the shit,” Bigby ordered.

“I-I’m sorry, Sheriff, but you’re really not supposed to be back here for, uh…safety purposes! And sanitary purposes.”

“I’m just doing my job, Johann. Now, quit hiding and—”

Something crashed over to the sheriff’s right, and he heard something else slide across the metal floor.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me!” Johann whispered urgently. “They’re gonna kill me! Oh God, she is gonna fuckin' kill me.”

Bigby worked his way through the maze of corpses. When he finally broke free, he saw Johann working quickly. He was desperately in the process of covering a rolling steel door with small boxes. It was such a pointless, faintly pathetic effort that Bigby actually felt back for the guy.

“What are you doing, Johann?” he asked with a sigh.

The butcher jerked in surprise and dropped the box he was holding. He whipped around, backing up until he was pressed against the steel door. Bigby followed him and crossed his arms painfully.

“Pl-please, Bigby! Please don’t!”

“Bigby?” he repeated sternly. “What happened to Sheriff?”

“Please don’t kill me, Sheriff!” Johann exclaimed, his heart beating erratically. “I don’t wanna die! Please, please don’t kill me! Please, pl—”

“Listen!” Bigby snapped. “Just—calm the fuck down, okay? I just want some answers.”

Johann panted and pulled at his bow tie. “God, I’m dead either way! They said to me, they said, ‘Johann, you can keep your life and lose your shop, or you can lose both.’ Oh God, they’re gonna kill—she’s gonna fuckin’—she’s gonna—”

“Johann, I need you to calm down.”

“Oh God, oh God,” the butcher wheezed. He pulled at his tie again with shaking fingers. “I can’t—” His eyes flew wider, and he gripped his neck. “Oh God—I—Sheriff—I can’t breathe—I can’t—” Johann fell to the ground on his hands and knees, gasping as his heart raced.

“Shit,” Bigby muttered, kneeling beside him swiftly. “Johann, just—” Calm down? Very helpful. “Do you have a bag or…”

“Oh God—Oh God—” Tears sprung to Johann’s eyes. “I’m—I can’t—”

“Put—Johann, put your head between your knees. Sit up and put your head between your knees.”

The butcher scrambled back and did as the sheriff said. Bigby pushed on the man’s back, forcing him down a little further. Johann suddenly inhaled loudly and then drank in the air greedily.

“Oh God,” he whimpered, relaxing minutely.

“It’s gonna be okay, Johann,” Bigby sighed.

“Thank you, Sheriff,” the man gasped, wiping at his tears.

“Look, just…can you just open the door for me? You don’t have to be involved. You don’t have to say a word.”

“I-I can’t!”

“Why not? What’s back there?”

“I don’t know!” Johann cried, looking at Bigby imploringly. “Honest! I-I’ve never been back there! I mean, not since…It’s locked from the other side! Look, I-I just work the front. That’s _all_ I do! I’ve—I haven’t been back there in years! I don’t know any more than that! They t-told me not to e-ever go back there, so I don’t!”

“They?” Bigby repeated. “Who, the Crooked Man? Bloody Ma—”

“ _Don’t_ say her name!” Johann shouted. “Oh God, _please_ don’t say her name. Th-this isn’t my shop anymore. That crew took it from me a long time ago!”

“Crew?”

“Fuck…”

“Who all’s involved, Johann?”

The butcher held his head in his hands. “Fuck…It’s…Jersey Devil, Dee and Dum, and that _mental_ case…”

“Bloody M—”

“ _Don’t_! God, don’t! Oh God, I can’t take this stress anymore. Sh-she’s their—you wanna talk about the real butcher here?!” Johann exclaimed, looking at the sheriff again. “It’s her, not me! This is _her_ place!” Bigby stood and walked to the steel door to listen behind it while the butcher continued. “I’m telling you, they muscled in on me! Took over my storage and delivery a long ago. All ‘cause’a that heatwave years back. That summer was even hotter than this one. I let that _woman_ and those porkers in to stay cool in the meat locker one day…playin’ cards, havin’ a great time. I guess they were sizin’ up the place. Shows what I get for bein’ nice. I’m just a victim in all this, Sheriff! Honest! I don’t know what they do back there! And I don’t _want_ to know! I’m not allowed to know, but I can’t—I can’t take it. My nerves can’t take this anymore. Oh God…”

“Okay, Johann,” Bigby said. “Just…try to stay calm. I believe you, alright? You’re not the first person they’ve used to get what they want.”

“Oh God,” Johann whimpered, weakening again. “Thank you, Sheriff. Thank you. What they say about you is wrong.”

Bigby frowned. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“There another way into this room?”

“No,” Johann gasped.

“A back door? Nothing?”

“No, it’s just for storage.”

“How’s it locked from the inside if there’s no other way out?”

Johann looked up at him. “I thought you said you’d met that… _woman_?”

Bigby frowned.

“You don’t _know_?! H-how can you not _know_?!”

“Know what?” Bigby demanded.

“She’s—she—she’s some kind’a… _demon_! I don’t know! She’s—she…it’s like she’s made o-of glass or something! There’s a mirror in th-the room. I saw them movin’ it in just after they took the place over.”

“A mirror?”

“She uses them t-to move around!” Johann cried. “She can be _anywhere_ in _seconds_!”

The sheriff looked away and then sighed heavily. “Great.”

“It’s not a joke! She’s—sh-she—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Bigby mumbled. “Just…step back, okay?”

“Wh-why? What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna open the fucking door.”

“Wha—no! You can’t! It’s locked from the other side, Bi—Sheriff!”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Step _back_.”

The butcher scrambled to his feet and darted away several steps. Bigby shoved several boxes out of the way. His side was already throbbing, but he didn’t see that he had much choice.

“You got a crowbar?” he asked, tossing another box out of the way.

“Wha—no. Why would I have a—”

“Something long and flat then?”

“I…I don’t…”

Bigby grimaced. “Never mind. Just stay back.” He crouched down and rested his forehead against the icy metal door for a moment as he gripped the handle. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. This was going to fucking hurt.

Bigby gave himself a moment, and then he started pulling. The locks on the other side of the door whined in protest, and the sheriff grunted through his teeth. He realized the whole thing must have been anchored to the floor, but he didn’t let that deter him. The sheet metal door groaned and shuddered as Bigby huffed. His chest was on fire, his side splitting open again. He felt a couple stitches pop, and he groaned as he persisted.

Johann watched the demonstration of brute strength with a faintly terrified expression. Barely half a minute passed before something broke loudly inside the mysterious back room, and then the door rolled up freely. Bigby stood with it, his strength failing him a little in the wake of his pain, but he managed to push the door all the way up with a strangled grunt. He moved his hand to his side as he clenched his jaw, and then he stepped into the room.

“The fuck is all this?” he panted in a strained voice.

It looked like a chemical lab. There were beakers, flasks, and a couple distillation apparatuses taking up a long table in the center of the room. Empty vials, funnels, and pipettes were scattered across the space, as if someone had dropped them in the middle of their work. One of the distillation sets still had a blue liquid faintly glowing inside its bulbous beaker as it waited for its chemist to return. A shelf behind the long table held all manner of vials—a wide assortment of ingredients. Bigby only recognized a few of them offhand: Black Forest Soil, Tongue of Dog, Swine’s Snout, and Eye of Newt especially stood out.

Bigby grimaced. It explained where witches like Greenleaf got their supplies.

Beside the shelf, a floor-length mirror sat proudly, reflecting the room. Bigby frowned at it, but nothing about it seemed extraordinary in any way. In fact, it looked rather cheap, barely more than a glass plate.

Alongside the wall beside the mirror, several long chains were bolted into the wall. Bloodied handcuffs rested on the floor with a couple spots of blood.

“What the fuck is this place?” Bigby repeated with a growl.

Johann shook his head, looking sick. “I told you, Bigby! I-I don’t know! They muscled me out! I swear, I don’t know anything more. I-I’ve never seen it like this. It was just a storage room for extra meat…”

A massive chalkboard took up a whole wall. Notes were written on it, some kind of code. Bigby didn’t have time to analyze it before the saw a glowing red light near the board with a little sign that read _Run!_

“What the _fuck_ , Johann!” the sheriff roared. “You helped them escape! I could have—” 

“Could’ve what?!” the butcher argued, his hands shaking. “Look at you! No disrespect, Sheriff, but you’re not well! Anyone could see that! They would’ve killed you for coming here and tortured me for showing you the place! I _had_ to warn them!” Johann’s eyes flared with righteous indignation, and he stormed closer to the sheriff. “You come in here, makin’ trouble for me, but you only give a shit now because the Crooked Man stepped on your toes! But this has been my life for _years_! Where were you when they took this place from me?!”

Bigby hated how shitty that felt, but he knew the butcher was right.

“You think this has been easy for me?” Johann pressed. “You think I like living with this at my back, with those criminals breathing down my neck and threatening me every other day?! I needed help— _desperately_! I needed _your_ help! You’re the sheriff; you’re…you’re supposed to…to _protect_ us from things like this, from _people_ like this!”

Bigby looked away. “Well, I’m here now,” he muttered. “I’ll…sort this out, okay? Just…take a seat. Let me look around.”

Johann stepped to the doorway, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. The sheriff walked to another table near the back of the room. More than a dozen empty boxes were waiting to be filled. Each one had the same symbol branded across it—a man laced through the spokes of the wheels. The boxes Beast had been delivering could have contained anything. Bigby knew there were a lot of nasty spells and charms someone could make with the right equipment. Looking around the place, they had everything they needed to make them.

Bigby took a step, and chains clattered under his feet. He kicked them lightly aside, giving Johann a grim look. “Got any idea who they brought down here?”

“I’m not the only one under the Crooked Man’s thumb, you know. Sometimes…they don’t make him happy.” 

“I want names, Johann.”

“I don’t know their names. I never saw them. I just heard it…screams and…” Johann shook his head, growing pale.

Bigby rested his fists against the table. “Why didn’t you ever come to me with this?”

“Why should I have to?” Johann snapped. “Why should I put my neck on the line?! Do you _know_ what they’d do to me if they found out I snitched?! And even if I _had_ gone to you, what would’ve been the point?! Everyone knows the Woodlands takes care of the Woodlands. We’re on our own out here. Who do you _think_ they chained up in here?! Model employees?!”

“You sat out there, and you listened to people get _tortured_ —”

“Knowing I’d be next if I didn’t go along with it.”

Bigby’s jaw tightened. He pushed off the table angrily, eyeing the glass jars on the shelves before he returned to the chalkboard. Chemical equations were written on one half of it, long, complex strands of formulae to produce whatever they were making.

The other half of the board had a numbers-to-letters code that he didn’t have the time to decipher. It wouldn’t have mattered if he tried; without a key, it would have taken too long, and he wasn’t sure if it was worth the effort.

Bigby gripped the edge of the board and slide it aside to see the one behind it. His eyes widened. Countless names were written in a neat column—dozens and dozens of Fables along with the code for whatever they’d ordered. Auntie Greenleaf, Georgie, Faith, Nerissa, Lily, Vivian—even Rose Red and Goldilocks—were listed. Other names were vague aliases—Mr. Black, Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith, Mr. M, Mr. R.”

Bigby’s expression hardened. “He’s got his hooks into everybody. He promises to help and then binds people to him. The girls at the Pudding and Pie. The workers he forces to keep quiet. The people he puts in these chains. He’s enslaving Fables…” Bigby looked away bitterly. “On my watch.”

Johann sighed quietly.

Wild rage roared through Bigby like a tidal wave. “And that _fucker_ Crane knew all about it!” he exploded, bringing his fists down on the worktable. Johann jumped back. Beakers teetered off the edge of the table and shattered. Philters collapsed, blue-green fluids spilling across the metal surface and dripping to the floor. “That fucking…” Bigby couldn’t finish the sentence.

Johann swallowed. “Well…w-what _about_ Crane?” he wondered, getting a little angrier himself. “I-I mean, if this is all…if finding the Crooked Man is so important, why don’t you just ask your boss?!”

Bigby frowned. “Snow?”

Johann gaped at him. “What? No! _Crane_! He said he knows where everybody is all the time! I don’t know how, but he’s got some way of…of finding people! Some kind of artifact o-or—”

“It’s the Magic Mirror,” Bigby supplied unhappily.

“Yeah! That creepy mirror! With the big green head and all. Why don’t you just use that?! Find the Crooked Man that way! And leave me alone!” Johann huffed and crossed his arms. “With stuff like that mirror, I’m surprised you ever have to even leave the office. All this searching and—”

Bigby gave him a murderous look. “If I could just use the fucking mirror, don’t you think I would’ve spared myself all this fucking bullshit? Crane _shattered_ the mirror, because he’s a fucking coward. He stole one of its pieces before he was taken by Blood Mary, so it doesn’t work, got it?”

Johann’s eyes lit up. “Well, if they got their hands on an important magical item like that, there’s only one place they’d take it!”

“If you say the Lucky—”

“The Lucky Pawn!”

“God fucking damn it.”

Bigby turned to leave, but Johann stopped him. “Sheriff, wait…what…what about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?! I’m gonna spend the rest of my short life looking over my shoulder for Bloody—for that woman!”

Bigby reached into his pocket for a cigarette. “Report to the Business Office,” he mumbled around it. “Tell Snow I sent you. We’ll, uh…we’ll figure out something. Some kind of protection until this is over, alright?”

Johann sighed in relief. “Thank you, Sheriff. _Thank_ you.”

Bigby grunted in response and left. He lit his cigarette as he walked, his expression darkening. When he reached the storefront, he flipped the _Closed_ sign around on the door and headed back out into the blistering heat.


	25. Chapter 25

The roll-down security gate had been lowered two-thirds of the way when Bigby arrived at the Lucky Pawn. Word must have gotten to the Crooked Man—or Jersey—that the sheriff was sniffing around.

_Great_.

Bigby opened the front door and walked into the tight passage between the entrance and the security gate. Woody and Jersey were arguing bitterly inside the room.

“Jersey,” the Woodsman growled. “Don’t—don’t give me that shit! What the fuck is the point of havin’ a system if you’re just gonna—”

“It’s not my problem,” Jersey bit back.

Jack suddenly darted around the corner of the shop and ducked under the gate.

“Jack,” Bigby said quickly, catching his arm before the man could escape. “What's going on in there?”

Jack shot a wide-eyed glance at the other two. “Oh, nothin’, just the usual. You know how it is. Another day in Fabletown. I’m just gonna…” Jack pulled free from Bigby’s grasp and was out the door in a flash.

The sheriff flipped the _Closed_ sign around at the same time that Woody shoved Jersey back several steps.

“I _didn’t_ pawn it, asshole!” he roared. “It was _stolen_ from my apartment!”

“You don’t want no part’a this, pal,” Jersey muttered, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He ran a hand irritably through his red-and-gray scruff before he pointed at the Woodsman. “You think you’re the first dick with seller’s remorse to come cryin’ through that door? You push me one more goddamn time, ‘n I’ll have one helluva mess on my hands, ‘n I really don’t feel like moppin’ out this room today. I’m givin’ you one more shot to thank me for my sunny fuckin’ attitude and generous disposition. Turn the _fuck around_ and walk right outta that door with your life.” He shoved Woody hard against the counter. “Get the fuck outta my sight before I lose my goddamn temper.”

“Hey,” Bigby grumbled, ducking under the gate. “What the fuck’s going on here?”

Woody glanced around the store and then angrily picked up a placard that identified a silver axe. “What the fuckin’ hell!”

“Christ,” Jersey complained when Bigby stepped between him and the Woodsman. “This fuckin’ guy, too?”

“Are you _kidding_ me?!” Woody roared, throwing the placard at Jersey. “It _was_ here! It was right fuckin’ here! What’d you do with it?!”

“How the fuck should I know? You see how much fuckin’ shit I got in here?”

Woody pushed past Bigby and grabbed Jersey’s collar. “Listen, you bald little dipshit, you’re gonna—”

Jersey silenced him with a swift punch to the stomach. Woody fell back a step and wheezed out a cough.

“You piece of shit!” Woody lunged back at him, his fist flying.

The two went crashing through the room with a flurry of fists, curses, and threats. Bigby caught Jersey’s arm when he went to hit Woody again and threw him back a couple steps. The sheriff grunted at the strain, glaring at the pawn shop owner.

“Back off, Jersey,” he growled. “You’re dealing with me now.”

“You got here fast,” Jersey smirked, wiping blood from his chin. “Must’a been light traffic. Lemme guess, you’re lookin’ for whoever killed them hookers? Or are you still chasin’ your own tail?”

“Where’s my axe?” Woody rumbled behind the sheriff. “Who’d you give it to?!”

Jersey spat on the ground. “You follow me here all the way from Battery fuckin’ Park just so I can prove to you that your axe ain’t here, and you think I’m gonna take another inch of abuse?”

Jersey went for Woody, but the sheriff caught him and pushed him back. “I said back off,” he growled as his side flared.

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me, Wolf.”

“Get lost, Bigby,” Woody shouted. “I just want what’s mine! I just want my axe!”

“Everybody just calm the fuck down,” Bigby ordered in a gravelly voice.

Jersey smirked again. “You talk so big, don’t you, Wolf? But I don’t think you got the stones to back it up. We all heard about what happened last night—”

Before Bigby realized what was about to happen, Jersey struck him in the side as hard as he could. Bigby’s eyes flashed a brilliant yellow, and he felt against the counter with a loud grunt. He gripped his side breathlessly, panting as his stitches popped open. Blood blossomed through the bandages and slipped down his hip as he tried to catch his breath.

“Still a little sore, huh?” Jersey laughed.

“Back off, Jersey,” Woody growled. “Just—leave him.”

“Why should Mary get all the fun?”

Bigby started wheezing quietly, and he hunched over the counter. The first threshold crashed over him, and his blinding pain lessened.

“Yeah, you ain’t so tough,” Jersey muttered. The wolf looked up slowly with glowing yellow eyes. “You know what? I’m just gonna handle you myself. And I won’t need no fuckin’ precious silver bullet to—”

Bigby grabbed Jersey’s arm and slammed him down against the counter hard enough to crack the glass display. He picked his head up and repeated the motion. The glass shattered on the second hit, long shards jaggedly digging into Jersey’s cheeks.

Woody grabbed Bigby and hurled him back angrily. “What the hell’re you doin’, Wolf? This is _my_ fuckin’ fight.”

“Not now,” Bigby growled.

“I said—”

Green light exploded through the room. “ _Dog_ ,” Jersey droned in an old, cracked voice, “you got a lotta fuckin’ nerve.”

The wolf and the Woodsman took a step back from the pawn shop owner as he changed. The Jersey Devil grew taller and skinnier. His skin turned gray and dark as horns burst out across his shoulders. His face changed into a long, thin skull with skin that stretched thin across long, narrow jaws. Massive twin antlers rose proudly from his head, nearly brushing against the ceiling as his fingers lengthened into long, thick claws.

“Fuck,” Bigby muttered.

Woody made the first move. He tried to tackle Jersey, but the creature knocked him aside with barely any effort. Woody flew back to the counter and collapsed on the ground with a loud cry. The devil lunged at him. He rolled the Woodsman over and flashed his claws, preparing another attack. Bigby kicked Jersey’s ribs as hard as he could. The devil fell back over the counter, hit a locked cupboard, and fell heavily to the ground. The cupboard sprang open, and contents toppled off shelves to the floor. The wolf gave a loud grunt as he felt blood trail down his side. Woody scrambled back to his feet, glancing at Bigby's yellow eyes before he decided they were both on the same side—this time.

Jersey laughed as he pulled himself up. “Ah, protecting your good friend Woody. Too bad you couldn’t protect those whores.” The devil lifted himself onto the counter and crouched down. “Don’t worry. You’ll see ‘em again real soon.”

Jersey launched himself powerfully at the sheriff. Bigby extended his claws and jerked forward. His claws dug deep into the devil’s stomach as Jersey sailed over him. The devil landed heavily on the ground, blood pooling rapidly below him.

“Stay down, Jersey,” Bigby warned through his teeth.

Woody suddenly gasped when he saw the cupboard’s contents. “There she is!” he shouted, climbing over the counter clumsily.

Jersey spat at the wolf and crawled to the gate. Bigby grabbed it and slammed it down onto the devil’s shoulders to daze him. He managed a couple of hits before Jersey caught the gate and forced it back up into the ceiling. He pulled himself to his feet and swiped at Bigby furiously. The wolf backed up and dodged. Jersey’s claws caught his tie and shirt with each hit but never his skin. The devil howled in fury and then backed up several steps. He bowed his head, and Bigby’s yellow eyes widened.

He barely had time to save his shoulder. He grabbed the devil’s antlers and angled them a little so the longest of the sharp bones passed him by mostly without harm. The wolf released a low growl when two of the smaller ones dug into his shoulder, narrowly missing his collarbone. Pain lanced up his side from the bullet wound, and he growled again. He gripped the antler by the stem and pulled as hard as he could. In one powerful jerk, the antler came free from the devil’s head.

Jersey screamed and fell back, blood spurting from the wound. Before he could recover, Bigby thrust the jagged bone into Jersey’s stomach as deeply as he could. Jersey roared, but it sounded more angry than pained. He grabbed Bigby’s shoulders and shoved him across the room with little effort. The wolf stumbled back and hit a glass counter. It shattered across his back immediately. Before he could right himself, Jersey thrust his long claws into and through Bigby’s broken arm, pinning him to the counter. The wolf howled in pain, his eyes flashing a brighter yellow. The devil opened his jaws wide and lunged for Bigby’s neck. The wolf barely had time to lurch to one side. He extended his claws and dug them into the skin of Jersey’s neck. Jersey tried to bite Bigby again. The wolf grunted and growled as each attempt forced the devil’s claws in deeper.

“Hey, asshole,” Woody called. “I found her.”

Bigby looked past the devil, his eyes widening a little at the silver blade in the Woodsman’s hands. For a long second, he was sure he was going to be the target. Instead, the Woodsman pulled the axe back with a powerful roar, and the silver blade dodged deep into Jersey’s skull. The devil released Bigby with an unearthly scream that shook the pawn shop. Bigby covered his profusely bleeding arm with his other hand and got off the counter. Jersey shoved Woody to the ground and gripped the axe handle desperately. The Woodsman grabbed a thick, heavy statuette off the floor and swung it around at Jersey’s head. The devil’s scream cut off at once, and he landed with a heavy thud. A long, low groan slipped out as his claws scraped against the tiled floor.

Bigby panted heavily, his breaths growing close to growls. He lifted a hand to his eyes. It took him a second to regain control and push the first threshold back. As he returned to his human form, his pain overwhelmed him, and he staggered forward before he managed to push that back, too. He glared down at Jersey, tightening the gauze on his arm to stop it from bleeding. Woody grabbed his axe and pulled it from the devil’s head so forcibly that Jersey screamed again and curled in on himself. The Woodsman leveled the weapon at the creature’s neck and nodded up at Bigby.

The sheriff knelt in front of Jersey. “Let’s try this again,” he panted through his teeth. His voice was hoarse but still threatening. “The Magic Mirror’s missing a shard. Where the fuck is it? Bloody Mary brought it here, didn’t she?”

“You don’t…” Jersey coughed. “…know anythin’…about anythin’, do you? What do you have? Nothin’…that useless bitch Snow White ‘n a broken fuckin’ mirror.”

“Nothing?” Bigby repeated. He gave the silver axe in Woody’s hands a pointed look. “I still have you, don’t I?”

Jersey gave a strained laugh. “You ain’t…gonna find the Crooked Man. Not through me. Not through anyone. No one can find him. You…fuckin’ idiot. The door to his house… _ngh_ …bounces around. Never in one spot. You’ll never find it. Even Crane…had to use the fuckin’ mirror just to…know where it was…They dumped all that weasel’s shit here. Blood Mary uses this place…like her fuckin’ dump…the fuckin’ bitch.”

“Where did she put Crane’s stuff?”

“In…back.” He gestured vaguely to the cupboard behind the counter. There were several boxes and artifacts, but Bigby’s eyes zeroed in on a navy blue jacket—the one Crane had been wearing last night. “He…won’t be needin’ that shit…no more,” Jersey laughed weakly.

“What do you mean?” Bigby demanded. “What’d they do with him?”

“Fuck you…think they did? He was gonna…talk…”

Bigby frowned at him. “How do you know that?”

“Have you…met the guy? If you even lifted a finger…in his direction…he would’a fuckin’ talked…Fucker was…terrified of you…”

“Did they kill him?”

Jersey spit out a glob of blood. “Fuck do you care? If I know…the Crooked Man…Crane won’t be botherin’ no one…ever again.”

Bigby rose and moved across the room to the cupboard. He didn’t give a fuck about Crane, but he knew Snow might.

The sheriff rifled through Crane’s coat pockets quickly. He came across a slip of paper in one of them and pulled it out to see a photocopy of the picture from the glamour tubes—Snow smiling radiantly into the camera beside her sister.

“Sick piece of…” Bigby shook his head, his jaw clenched tight.

He reached into the last pocket and cut his finger against something sharp. He pulled out a large, jagged shard of glass, and then he sagged in relief.

“Fuckin’ finally,” he breathed. He ripped the arm off Crane’s jacket and wound it around the shard carefully. He pulled himself over the counter with a grunt and landed next to Woody.

“Find it?” the other man wondered.

The sheriff nodded gratefully and pressed his free hand to his side.

Woody pulled his axe up and let it rest on his shoulder.

As they turned to leave, Jersey started laughing quietly again. “Hey…Sheriff…” he rasped. Bigby turned slowly. “Those girls…are still dead. And there’s nothin’…you can do to— _ngh_ —bring them back. I don’t know what they did, but I do know this: If they’re dead…it’s ‘cause the Crooked Man _wanted_ them dead. That’s all it takes. So, you can roar and smash up the place…you can wail on me all you want…but what good’s it gonna do ya? ‘Cause… _ngh_ …’cause he ain’t in your town. You’re in his. And he sure as shit’s ready for you.”

Bigby glared at him for a long, silent moment, and then he turned and walked out into the heat of the street. Woody followed him quietly. The sheriff pulled out a cigarette, his hands bloodied and shaking a little from the pain.

“Fuck,” he muttered, closing his eyes briefly.

“Got a smoke?” Woody mumbled.

Bigby lit the cigarette and handed it over before grabbing another.

“Thanks.” Woody took a puff and grimaced. “Shitty brand…”

“You’re welcome,” Bigby retorted.

The Woodsman looked down. “I’m not gonna lie…I was havin’ trouble decidin’ which one’a you to hit with this thing.”

Bigby made a face. He wasn’t surprised. He took a long drag and flagged down a cab with one arm.

“Jersey was wrong, you know,” Woody added quietly.

“About what?” the sheriff asked in a tired voice.

“About those girls. There _is_ somethin’ you can do about it. You can get the fucker who did it.”

“Yeah,” Bigby sighed.

“Those girls…deserve that. Lily…deserves that.” Woody adjusted the axe on his shoulder and started walking down the sidewalk as the cab came to a stop.

Bigby pulled the back door open. He hesitated, glancing up at the large man as he slowly left. He leaned one of his arms against the scalding roof, the other on the door. He was lost in thought for a moment before he called out. “Hey, Woody.”

The Woodsman stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yeah, Wolf?”

“You…gonna be alright?”

Woody glanced back. “You know me,” he replied simply as he walked again.

Bigby watched him a moment, and then he slid into the car. He winced at his side and leaned against the door tiredly. He gave the address as he rested his head against one hand. As the buildings slipped by his window quickly, the sheriff seemed relaxed, but he held the mirror’s shard so tightly that his knuckles grew pale.


	26. Chapter 26

Bigby walked into the Business Office slowly. Everything had begun to hurt a hell of a lot more. Despite the pain, the sheriff was relieved that one thing had finally gone right.

His good mood faded when he saw who all was in the Business Office. Snow was sitting at the deputy mayor's desk—her desk now—with her hands folded on its surface. She seemed calm, but he recognized the stiffness of her posture well enough to realize she was holding her tongue. Bluebeard was leaning over the desk, his hands pressed firmly on it as he lectured her. Mr. Toad—still unglamoured—was at his side, trying in vain to get a word in edgewise.

“I don’t care who killed those prostitutes,” Bluebeard snapped. “If Crane was helping himself to community coffers, then it means his hand was in _my_ pocket. And you just let him _go_?!”

Snow gave him a cool look. “I don’t know what you’d heard, Bluebeard, but that isn’t how it happened.”

“Are you denying the facts?!”

“She’s denyin’ me the chance to get a word in!” Toad complained, knocking on her desk with his webbed fingers. “Now, Miss White, as I was sayin’, I just need a little bit to—”

“Sheriff Bigby has returned!” Bufkin interrupted happily.

Snow glanced over. She stood so abruptly that she moved the desk a little. “Bigby!” she called when she saw the state he was in. She hurried around the desk to meet him. “Where have you been? Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m not finished, Miss White,” Bluebeard grumbled.

“ _You_ will have to wait,” she returned with a low, angry voice. She blinked and sighed. “Just…one moment. Please,” she added more softly. She turned her back on the others, her expression concerned. “Bigby, are you alright?”

“I got it,” he replied, unraveling the mirror shard quickly.

Snow’s mouth dropped open.

Bluebeard gave a humorless laugh. “Seems your dog wants a biscuit, Miss White.”

Bigby shot him a deadly look. 

“Bufkin!” Snow called excitedly. She took the shard swiftly, her fingers brushing against Bigby’s in her haste. “Get this piece in the mirror right away!”

“With pleasure, Miss White!” Bufkin hummed, soaring over the others. He plucked it carefully from her fingers and then flew it to the back corner of the office.

Snow watched him and then sighed in relief. “Finally,” she murmured. “Things are starting to swing back in the right direction. Good work, Bigby,” she added emphatically, giving him a wide smile. Her eyes drifted grimly to his bloodied shirt. His gauze had soaked through with blood. His shoulder had two puncture wounds, and his side looked like it had lost most, if not all, of his stitches. “Jesus, Bigby…I thought you were going to take it easy…are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine, Snow,” he nodded. 

“You’ve been gone all day. What did you uncover?”

Bigby sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “All of Fabletown is involved,” he answered grimly. “The Crooked Man has something on pretty much everyone. The Crooked Man’s…uh, goon, I guess, the Jersey Devil, is squeezing all kinds of Fables down at the Lucky Pawn. It wasn’t just Beauty and the loan. Beast was working for him, too, delivering packages from some butcher shop where Bloody Mary and her people are making black market magic…By the way, did Johann come by?”

“Yes,” she murmured, a crease forming between her eyebrows. “He told me you sent him. I had him go to Beauty and Beast’s for now. He came by around the same time, and…it just seemed like a good idea until I had a chance to speak with you.” Snow shook her head. “This is worse than we could have imagined.”

“And it gets worse,” the sheriff muttered. “Turns out, the Crooked Man’s door moves around.”

“Moves around? As in…?”

“Yeah. Magic.”

She gave another heavy sigh and looked away briefly. “Do you think the mirror will even be able to find it?”

“Jersey said that’s how Crane found the door. Though…when we see where it is, looks like we’ll have a small window to get there before it moves again.”

Snow nodded and chewed on her thumbnail idly. She squinted at the bookshelves thoughtfully for a long moment before she finally looked back at the sheriff and dropped her hand. “Excellent work, Bigby. Really.” At his grimace, she smiled. “You did great.”

Bigby leaned against the wall behind him tiredly. “Least we’re finally getting somewhere.”

“Did…Jersey do all this to you?”

Bigby grunted a confirmation and waved a hand vaguely. “Woody helped me out.”

“The _Woodsman_ helped you?” Snow repeated incredulously.

“Yeah,” Bigby snorted. “Thought he was gonna take my head clean off with that axe at first, though.”

“He has it back, then?”

“Yeah. It was at the pawn shop. Guess Mary didn’t want it anymore.”

Snow grimaced and rested her hands on her hips. “Well…I guess that’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Sheriff!” Bufkin called. “I could use your assistance. Would you mind joining me?”

Bigby glanced at Snow again before he gently moved past her.

“Don’t go far, Sheriff,” Bluebeard warned. “I’d like to have a few words of my own with you.”

“Yeah?” Bigby muttered without turning around. “Take a number.”

Snow cleared her throat as she fought an amused smile.

Bufkin was frowning at the shard in his hands when Bigby arrived.

“What’s wrong?” the sheriff asked.

“I don’t understand,” the flying monkey admitted in a distressed tone. “This piece just doesn’t want to join the rest! It’s supposed to…to…well, it’s not doing what it’s _supposed_ to do. Do you have any idea why?”

“Got me,” Bigby shrugged. He heard Snow, Toad, and Bluebeard pick their argument back up again.

“Well,” Bufkin said thoughtfully, “where did you find it? What has it gone through since being separated from the others? Shattering is a very traumatic experience, you know. This process can be a little…touchy. It helps that I have a good working relationship with the mirror.”

“Mm. Maybe I should go.”

Bufkin grinned. “Very funny, Mr. Bigby. But really, what did this shard endure?”

“I found it in Crane’s jacket. Last person I saw with Crane or his jacket was that psycho Bloody Mary. Maybe she—”

“Ah, _yes_ ,” Bufkin sighed. “Miss White was asking about her! That explains everything. You-know-who and the mirror have a very…unhappy history with each other. I mean, how would _you_ feel if she treated you like a doorway?”

“I think I already know the feeling,” Bigby muttered, unconsciously lifting a hand to his side.

Bufkin grimaced. “Ah, yes…Well, I think I know how to proceed now! It will just take a little extra…coaxing, that’s all. Thank you for your help! It may take some time to reacquaint the piece with the others.”

Bigby sighed when he heard Bluebeard’s raised voice. “Sure you don’t need me to do anything else? I’ll even rhyme.”

Bufkin laughed. “No, no, Mr. Bigby. I can handle it from here.”

The sheriff offered another sigh and turned around. Toad and Bluebeard were arguing with each other now. Snow extricated herself from them to meet Bigby again. She gave him a warm smile. He watched it a second too long before glancing away.

“Is it fixed?” she asked hopefully, stopping close to him. “Did you ask about the Crooked Man?”

“Bufkin’s still working on it. He said it might be a while.”

Snow nodded and frowned when she heard Bluebeard’s voice rise again. “Wanna go for that burger now?” she joked.

Bigby gave a rare, quiet chuckle. “Yeah, perfect timing.”

She laughed softly and then cleared her throat. She looked down and folded her hands. “I…I have a confession to make,” she said, suddenly serious. More than that, she seemed almost shy. “With everything going on…I didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier, but…”

Bigby frowned softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she assured him quickly. “Not _wrong_ , just…I feel a little…guilty.”

“Why?” he wondered in a gentle tone.

Snow didn’t meet his eyes at first. “I was…I was going through Crane’s desk and all his things, and I, uh…I found a box…”

Bigby froze.

“No! N-nothing like that,” she said swiftly. “I—it was actually the, um…” She looked up at him. “It was the evidence box? From when you were…brought in for questioning, I guess, for my…murder.”

“Oh…right,” the sheriff said unhappily.

“And…there was a tape. I didn’t…realize what it was when I watched it, but…” She trailed off, giving him a soft look.

“Tape?” Bigby repeated. “What ta—” The sheriff’s eyes widened a fraction, and he looked away, embarrassed. Shit. He recalled his long silence with Brannigan and how shaky his hands had been. “Oh. Uh…”

Snow smiled up at him warmly. She glanced back to see the others too busy arguing with each other. She gently took Bigby’s arm and led him behind one of the many bookshelves. She waited until they were more or less out of sight, and then she stopped and let her hand drift up to his cheek. “I just…I know it’s wrong to see something like that and…” She frowned and exhaled slowly, trying to organize her thoughts. “I just…I wanted to say that I…” Her eyes flickered up to his. She glanced around the corner and then leaned up a little higher.

Her lips met Bigby’s softly. Surprise gave him a split second’s hesitation before he closed his eyes. He lifted a hand to her cheek and kissed her back. His thumb swept across her cheekbone, and she smiled against him gently. His heartbeat picked up quickly, and his ribs ached in protest, but he ignored the pain as the scent of her filled his lungs. His lips pulled into a small smile against hers. He moved his other hand to her back, dipping a little to meet her better.

For a long, breathless moment, they each forgot about the circumstances that had brought them there. Bigby’s mind became clouded with her scent and her taste, and he curled his fingers softly against her cheek. Snow smiled again, letting her fingers lace through his hair. She gave the kiss a few more seconds before she reluctantly pulled back. She looked up at his soft, warm eyes, and her smile widened even as she tried to tame it.

Her ocean eyes were just as affectionate, and Bigby let his thumb sweep across her cheekbone lightly. Neither one of them said anything, but they didn’t have to.

Snow gave him another small smile, and then she dropped her hands and led Bigby back into the office casually.

Bluebeard and Toad didn’t appear to have even noticed their departure.

“If you’re so self-reliant,” Toad was shouting, “then what the feck do _you_ wan’ from the Business Office so bad, eh?!”

“What I want is _my_ business, frog!”

Toad gave a bitter laugh. “That’s _rich_ comin’ from you, mate!”

Snow stopped before they reached them. She shook her head and looked back at Bigby. “I can’t understand those two right now,” she muttered. “We’re trying to catch a _murderer_ , and they’re over there _bickering_ about bureaucracy! Don’t they realize how important it is to find the Crooked Man before he hurts someone else? Or _worse_?”

“You want me to deal with them?” Bigby asked quietly.

Snow wasn’t sure why that, of everything else, seemed to mean so much to her. Perhaps it was because she knew he was dead on his feet. Perhaps it was that he despised Bluebeard as much as she did. Maybe it was that he tried to avoid dealing with people as much as possible.

Snow gave him a soft smile. “That’s sweet, Bigby, but no, I—” 

“Let me help,” he interrupted gently. “I’ll talk to Toad.”

Snow’s expression darkened a little. “No, I…I handle that.”

“What did he come here for?”

“He…” She sighed and rubbed her forehead with pale fingers. “He wants a loan,” she replied quietly. “But…I’ve been over the books, and…it’s not good, Bigby. Crane left us in more debt than…well…” She looked down. “Suffice it to say, Fabletown will suffer a long time because of what he did. And Toad is…We just don’t have the money for memory charms. We can’t protect him if he gets caught unglamoured—him or his son—and that means…he’s become a danger to our community. They’d both be safer and…better off, I think, at the Farm, where they don’t have to hide.”

Bigby frowned. “Not sure he’ll see it that way.”

“I know,” Snow said solemnly. “And I’m sorry. I do care about them—about all of them. I wish there was another way, and…maybe one day there will be. But…unless Toad starts paying for and using glamours like he’s supposed to…there’s nothing I can do.”

“I know, Snow,” the sheriff said quietly. “It’s not your fault. It’s…just the way things are.”

Snow chewed the inside of her cheek. “Thank you for understanding, Bigby. It…means a lot.”

Bigby thoughtlessly touched her arm with gentle fingers. “I’ll tell him.” 

“No! Let me, please. You need to rest before—”

“It’s okay, Snow,” he murmured. He turned and walked through the office with a quiet sigh. “Toad,” he called, interrupting their argument. He nudged his chin to the table near the back off the office. “Come with me.”

Bluebeard turned on Snow immediately. She took his anger in stride, returning to her desk with a final worried look at the sheriff.

Toad glanced at the deputy mayor and then followed Bigby. “I see ‘ow it is,” he mumbled. “Passed off to an underling, eh? Why’m I not surprised? Well, you _did_ cause what damage brings me here, so maybe it’s for the best. Just a little bit’a dosh to cover it. I tried talkin’ to ‘er about it.” Toad gestured sharply to Snow. “But it’s like chattin’ up a brick wall it is! Now, I’m sure you got your own agenda, Sheriff, but I’ve taken a real wallop ‘cause’a you! And you can’t deny that or forget it.”

Bigby crossed his arms with difficulty and leaned back against the table. “I’m starting to think you don’t take me seriously, Toad,” he muttered, giving the amphibian an annoyed look. “How many times have I told you to get glamoured up? You _know_ that if you’re out of glamour, I _have_ to send you to the Farm. So why do you _always_ have to make me the bad guy here?”

Toad scoffed. “Yeah? Well, wha’ about your friend, then, mm? The pig? Is _‘e_ goin’ to the Farm, too?” Bigby looked away angrily. “Yeah, thought we didn’t know about ‘im, did you? The worst kept secret in all’a Fabletown. Know what that makes you, Bigby? A feckin’ hypocrite. For a _friend_ , the rules’ll bend, but for me—”

“Toad,” Bigby interrupted exasperatedly. “Look at yourself right now. You’re a three-foot fucking toad _walking_ around New York City! Did you take a cab here? Did you _drive_ here? Colin stays in my apartment; he doesn’t leave, he doesn’t go out talking to people, and he doesn’t drive a goddamn cab around taking fares unglamoured.”

Toad scoffed a second time. “Well, excuse the ever livin’ ‘ell outta me for _doin’_ somethin’ with me life. I don’t ‘ave someone to feed ‘n clothe me ‘n me boy. Should we become recluses, too? Will you leave us the _feck_ alone if we do?!”

“That’s not what I mean, Toad, and you know it. Colin is out of sight; you’re not. If you’re going to have a cab and drive around, if you’re gonna send your kid to school and walk around outside, you _can’t_ do it looking like this. What’s so goddamn hard to understand about that?”

“That’s bullshit!” Toad said too loudly. His tone drew eyes, and he lowered it again, glaring up at the sheriff who glared right back. “If the pig doesn’t ‘ave to use the glamour, then neither should I! Why’s ‘is ‘appiness worth more’n mine? More’n me boy’s?”

“You’d be happier at the Farm, Toad. No glamours, no mundies. Wide open spaces.”

Toad shook his head disdainfully. “Mate, clearly, you ‘ave not been to the feckin’ Farm.” Toad waved a hand and sighed. “Alright, alright, let’s just…let’s just calm down, yeah? Let’s…wha’ about this, Bigby, huh? Wha’ about…you give me one more chance—‘n ‘ear me out, Bigby. Gimme one more chance, ‘n I’ll see a way for me ‘n me boy to stay, yeah?”

“I’ve told you the way you stay, Toad,” Bigby said tiredly.

Toad’s temper flared again. “Yeah, ‘n ‘ow in the ‘ell am I s’posed to afford me glamours, eh? On a cab driver’s salary?! With a boy to feed ‘n rent to pay ‘n clothes to buy?! Look, Bigby, I-I know you’re not a bad guy, right? C’mon, I’m just askin’ for a little ‘elp! I’m not gonna take more’n I need, I promise. I just want to stay! I just want me boy to ‘ave a chance at a normal life, to go to school, to make friends. I don’t want him up there with those monsters ‘n beasts ‘n—”

“Toad,” Bigby sighed, closing his eyes briefly.

“No, just listen to me now, alright? _Help_ me, Bigby. Please! I’m beggin’ the mercy o’er ‘ere. I’m just askin’ you to…to think about me boy, alright? Don’t take TJ from the only ‘ome ‘e’s ever known. Don’t punish the boy!”

Bigby’s expression darkened at the cheap shot.

Toad continued to press. “This ‘ole glamour rule is…oppressive! You know it is. I’ve done nothin’ wrong ‘ere but look different. It’s all well ‘n good for you, Bigby. _You_ don’t always have to be your monster, but it ain’t so easy for the rest of us. For me ‘n me boy…you know it’s not right, burdenin’ the weakest of us like this! It’s wrong! Please, Bigby, I-I’m on me knees. Just…just gimme a chance to…” 

Bigby looked away for a long moment and then back at Toad. “It’s not up to me,” he replied in a quiet, emotionless voice. “I’m sorry, Toad. I…there’s nothing I can do. Crane took a lot from the community, and we simply don’t have the—”

“Save it, Bigby,” Toad spat. “Should’a known you wouldn’t help us. The Woodlands only cares about the Woodlands.”

“Toad, it’s not like that. There’s nothing I—”

“I’ve heard it all already from your boss. Believe you me.”

“This…this isn’t a _bank_ , Toad. The money doesn’t just come from _nowhere_. I can’t just—”

“No,” Toad snapped, his voice raising into a shout that reverberated off the walls and echoed down the archives. “But it _is_ your feckin’ fault I’m in the mess I’m in! My car, totaled; my apartment building’s got a gapin’ ‘ole in it— _sound familiar_?!”

Bigby felt the others watching. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll…I…I don’t have much. I can give you what I—”

“Save it, Bigby. I wasn’t lookin’ for charity. I was lookin’ for ‘elp.” 

“Toad, just—”

“TJ’ll just have to get used to a new ‘ome. This place isn’t for the likes of us.”

“Toad, c’mon, that’s not fair. I’m trying to—”

“No, it _isn’t_ fair,” Toad agreed in a low voice. “You, tossin’ us outta ‘ere like garbage, ‘n for what? So you can stay on White’s good side? Maybe jump into bed with ‘er?”

Bigby glared at him. “You’re supposed to be _glamoured_ , Toad,” he said through his teeth. “That’s what this is about; that’s _all_ this is about. It’s not personal. You’re going because you _refuse_ to—”

“You wanna know why everyone turns to that crooked wha’ever? It’s cause’a moments just like this.” Bigby stared at him. “Hookers ‘n mothers ‘n fathers with nothin’ left to give who got nowhere else to turn. We come to you, ‘n you turn us right back out with nothin’.”

The sheriff didn't know how to respond. For a long moment, the room was silent. “Toad…don’t even _think_ about going to the Crooked—”

“D’you think I’m an idiot?! I wan’ me son to be happy, to have a life ‘n a father that’s around for ‘im, unlike mine. I know what ‘appens when you cross that man.” Toad shook his head. “I ‘ope this is worth it to you, mate. I really do. Have a good feckin’ life, _Sheriff_.”

Bigby stared at the ground as Toad stormed out. He thought of Beauty and Beast and their fancy couches and golden frames. He thought of Crane’s penthouse with its marble floors and wide balconies. He thought of Nerissa’s sad, sad eyes and TJ’s bug collection.

Toad slammed the door behind himself. Bigby raised a hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. When he looked up again, he realized Snow was watching him sadly.

“Bluebeard,” he called gruffly. “You wanna talk? Now’s your chance.”

The man pulled up from Snow’s desk and raised an eyebrow at the sheriff. “I’ve just made my donation funding this office. Direct all your questions to Miss White.”

Bigby looked away. “Fine. Then can you get the fuck outta here? We have work to do.”

Bluebeard sneered at him and shook his head. “Whatever you say, Sheriff.”

Snow sighed and stood from her desk. The door closed again sharply. “Well…at least he’s not trying to get rid of me,” she mused, trying to lighten the tone.

“He’s not?” Bigby muttered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Snow leaned against the table beside him. “For now,” she replied. She hesitated and then reached over to rest her fingers on his arm. “I’m…sorry about Toad. Are you…okay?”

“’Course, Snow,” he answered flatly. “I’m fine.”

Snow looked down. “I wish there was more we could do to…”

“Yeah.”

“I know it may not seem important right now, but…glamoured are the law for a very good reason. You did the right thing. If someone gets caught…”

Bigby closed his eyes tiredly and then stared at the floor. “I know, Snow.”

The deputy mayor played with her fingers for a moment before she pulled herself up onto the table beside him. She let her feet swing slowly and sighed. “I know I should be asking how it got like this…but…I just keep wondering _why_ it happened. To Faith. To Lily. You’ve seen the Crooked Man’s world…do you have any idea why he’d want them dead?”

“It’s just about control,” Bigby muttered grimly. “The loans from the pawn shop, the magic he peddles. Ribbons. Chains. Maybe…maybe those girls weren’t doing what they were told. Maybe…” He sighed, remembering Faith's words in the alley. _I won’t be doing this much longer_. “Maybe they just wanted to leave.”

Snow closed her eyes briefly. “Do…do you think they—”

“Sheriff!” Bufkin called. “Miss White! I believe the mirror is repaired!”

They both looked up sharply and then moved off the table. Bufkin’s tail was flicking happily as he waited, and he laughed at something the mirror said.

The mirror gave a long sigh as he looked at Snow and Bigby. “I have to say, I have been better, but…thanks for putting me back together.”

“I’m sorry,” Snow said quickly, the words bursting out of her. “I just—I _have_ to know. Mirror, Mirror, we’re glad you weren’t slain—”

Bigby’s eyes flashed wider. “No, no, wait, Snow, don’t—”

“—now please, show us that sick creep Crane.”

The mirror flickered. Replacing the green figure was a blurry vision of a cab on a street corner. Rain fell lightly, obscuring the image a little more, but it was clear who stood next to the vehicle with his arms crossed.

Bigby couldn’t decide if he was relieved or angry that Jersey had lied.

Bloody Mary was standing with Crane, giving him a sadistic smile as he glared at the ground. “Now,” she purred in her smoky voice, “you _will_ get on that plane to Paris, and you _will_ wait for the day the Crooked Man needs you. Like a good little boy. Until then, not a peep. Otherwise, I get to deal with you _my_ way. So please… _please_ disobey. If you—” Mary suddenly froze. “Wait a minute…Someone’s watching…” She glanced over, her eyes flicking straight into the mirror’s image. She gave another malicious grin and raised her hand. In an instant, the image flickered red and faded to black.

The mirror’s figure returned blearily. “What…just happened?”

“We pointed you in the wrong direction,” Bufkin answered grimly, “and looked at Bloody Mary’s reflection.”

The mirror seemed to shudder. “Oh. _Her_. That explains the sting. I’d rather not have to feel the kind of pain _she_ brings. So…let’s not do that again, okay?”

“We’ll have to track him down later,” Bigby muttered. “Great.”

“Why did you try to stop me?” Snow wondered.

“I…Jersey said something when I was at the pawn shop. I, uh…thought he was dead.”

Snow paled. “Oh…that’s…” She blinked and looked at the mirror. “We…need to focus on the immediate threat.”

Bigby nodded. “Mirror, show us the Crooked Man.”

The mirror sighed heavily.

Snow glanced at the sheriff with a small smile. “I’m starting to think you’re doing it on purpose now.”

Bigby gave a heavy sigh. “I’m not a damn poet.”

“I don’t think anyone would accuse you of that, Mr. Bigby,” Bufkin chuckled good-naturedly.

Bigby frowned at him. “Fucking…” He huffed again. “Fine. Mirror, mirror…no time to…uh, pout…so where does the Crooked Man…hang out?”

“Why do the rest of us even try?” Snow pondered.

“Shut up,” Bigby smiled wryly.

The mirror shuddered again. When it came back to life, it showed a simple wooden floor set in a cracked, dilapidated wall.

“Is that the Crooked Man’s symbol?” Snow asked, pointing. Centered on the door was a massive wheel, a man laced through the spokes. It appeared almost burned into the wood with a brand.

“Yeah,” Bigby grumbled. “But it could be _anywhere_. Fuck.”

Bufkin twisted his mouth. “Mm, perhaps we could—”

“Wait, look!” Snow said quickly.

As they watched, the symbol started to disappear. The mirror faded to black briefly. It opened again outside in the shadows. A narrow steel door started to blaze a little with a magical brand. Blue light shot out from all around the gray door, and then the Crooked Man’s symbol flared to life on its surface before it settled into a charred black.

“God, you were right,” Snow breathed. “The door really does move, but…wait! I-I think I know that door! Look, the sign in the corner! The letters are faded, but I think it’s—”

“Central Park,” Bigby finished, walking backwards swiftly. “I don’t know when it’s gonna move again. I’m gonna try to get there before it does.”

“Bigby, wait!” Snow called, chasing after him. “When you get the Crooked Man, make sure you bring him back in cuffs. He has to stand trial. I’ll stay here and work on putting the case against him together. But we can’t dispense street justice here. I know that emotions can run high, and you have your reasons to want to handle this a certain way, but we have to make a commitment to work within the confines of the law, otherwise we’re—”

“Not better than them,” Bigby finished as he reached the door. “I know. I gotta go; I’ll bring him back here.”

“And, Bigby!” she called again, her eyes flitting over how wounded he already was. “Please be careful.”

“Aren’t I always?” he replied dryly.

Snow scoffed and rolled her eyes for his benefit, but her expression grew worried the second he was gone.

“He’ll be fine, Miss White,” Bufkin murmured.

Snow gave the door a dark look. “Bloody Mary’s still out there. Will you…Bufkin, can you use the mirror…keep an eye on him for me? Please.”

“Yes, Miss White. Don’t worry. It’s Sheriff _Bigby_. He can handle anything.”

Snow’s expression grew more concerned as she turned back to her desk. “I hope you’re right, Bufkin.”

***

Bigby ran through Central Park breathlessly. His chest was aching as he kept one hand pressed over the silver bullet wound, but he didn’t dare slow. It hadn’t taken him long to run the few blocks between the Woodlands and the park, but it felt like hours. He didn’t know how much time he had left, and he didn’t know what he’d do if the door was gone.

He slowed to a stop when he reached the underside of a small bridge. The Crooked Man’s symbol was still engraved in the door, fortunately. Bigby stalked forward angrily, his hands curling into fists as his chest heaved. He wrenched the door open and then took half a step back. A blinding blue light bathed over him, and he squinted into it past his fingers.

“Fuckin’ magic,” he muttered under his breath. He gave an impatient huff, and then he stepped through.

The sheriff hadn’t known what to expect when he reached the other side, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. It looked like the hallway of some ancient castle, the likes of which only existed in ruins in the mundy world. But here, the walls stood strong and proud. Long rugs of deep, rich reds lined the wide stone floors. Archaic, elaborate sconces of wrought iron decorated the walls every few feet between tall suits of armor. The lit candles flamed strongly, casting long shadows across the stone ceiling, but they did nothing to warm the frigid hallway.

Behind him, a soft burning sound came from the door. Bigby glanced back in time to see the Crooked Man’s symbol disappear.

“Great.”

He didn’t have long to ponder that particular problem. A soft tap came down a perpendicular hallway, followed by the high-pitched screech of whining metal. The sounds moved closer slowly. The sheriff curled his hands into fists, waiting to fight whoever—or whatever—came around the corner.

Bigby froze when a crutch came into view, followed immediately by a braced leg. “Tim?” he said in shock, letting his hands fall again. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The young man smiled at him. His soft eyes met Bigby’s before he inclined his head respectfully. “Good evening, Sheriff. I’m here to take you to the boss.” Tim extended his hand. “Thanks, by the way, for leaving off ‘Tiny.’”

It took a moment for Bigby unfreeze long enough to shake Tim’s hand. The boy’s small grip was weak, and Bigby suddenly worried he might hurt him. 

“I have to admit,” Tim mused, resting his hand on his crutch again. “When they asked me to watch the door, I wasn’t sure what to expect when you came through the portal. I know you aren’t exactly here on a social call.”

“Wait, you were expecting me?”

“Of course.”

“You knew I was coming?”

“That’s what they told me,” Tim shrugged, offering another hesitant smile. “I dunno, they said you made it ‘pretty clear’ that you’d be heading here soon.”

“ _Clear_?”

Tim shrugged again innocently. “I’m just supposed to bring you right on in to see the boss. So…if you’ll come with me, Sheriff…” Tim gestured down the long hall he’d come from.

Bigby frowned, stepping forward once. Stained glass windows were dispersed between sconces. An unnatural, blue light shone through the glass, bathing the hall in brilliant purples and greens.

“What the hell is this place, Tim?” the sheriff asked gruffly.

The boy’s expression tightened a little. “I’m sorry, Sheriff. I’m just supposed to walk you. I…This is the _one_ thing I have to do. Please don’t make this hard on me. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

The sheriff gave an unhappy sigh, but when he spoke, his voice was gentler. “Fine…Lead on.”

Tim offered a small, grateful smile as he turned. He leaned heavily on his crutch. His brace squeaked with every step, and his fingers fell to it absently. “Thanks for understanding,” he murmured quietly. “This is all I’m here to do, and…I don’t want to mess it up.”

“What do you mean?”

Tim glanced at the sheriff. “They asked me to wait for you.”

“That’s it? Just wait for me and then walk me to the Crooked Man?”

“Yeah.”

The sheriff scowled at the need of the hall. The manipulation was clear, but Bigby didn’t yet know if it was a threat, a ploy, or a way to garner sympathy.

Tim looked at the sheriff and misinterpreted his reaction. “I know,” he chuckled, “I’m the last person anyone would expect to be a guard or even an escort. I was a little surprised myself when they asked me to do it. I…truth be told, I actually thought it was a joke.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Tim,” Bigby said in a hushed tone, glancing at the kid. “This place is dangerous. Especially for—” The sheriff sighed and looked away.

“For someone like me?” Tim finished neutrally. “It’s not like that, Sheriff. I promise. Whatever you may think of him…he doesn’t treat me like some broken little kid. I think he gets what it’s like.” Tim adjusted the brace again with an absentminded gesture. “He gave me a _job_. And I’m lucky to have it. This…this is the only option I’ve got. Just…just keep that in mind, maybe? ‘Cause if you and him go up against each other…the rest of Fabletown is gonna get caught in the middle. And if you’re here now…it can’t be good.”

“Look, I…I understand the position you’re in,” Bigby allowed, “but you don’t have to do _this_. There are other things you could do.”

“Like what, Sheriff?” Tim wondered in a kind but knowing voice.

“Like…” Bigby grimaced when he blanked. “You could…”

“It’s okay, Sheriff. Look, the fact is…I’ve been to the Business Office many times. I’ve gone through interviews and tried to get a job, but…no one’s looking for someone like me. It’s not that easy to turn your nose up at the only option you have left.”

“Maybe not,” Bigby sighed. “But you don’t want to be a part of this.”

“A lot of us depend on him,” Tim replied. “Some of us never get to the front of the line. But he’s there for us. Don’t get me wrong, Sheriff. We _need_ you, but…we need him, too. What we don’t need is a war.”

Bigby scowled. “I didn’t start this. He did when he killed two girls in my town.”

Tim looked away. “Maybe things aren’t as clear cut as that.”

The sheriff gave him a sharp look. “Are you defending the murder of—”

“Of _course_ not, Sheriff,” Time interrupted, offended. “All I mean is…Look, just…hear him out, Sheriff. Because if you go in there half-cocked…” Tim looked away again. “Whatever bad the Crooked Man’s done, he’s done a lot of good, too. A lot of Fables will go down with him if he falls. That’s all I mean.”

Bigby jaw clenched, and he glared at the door at the end of the hall. His anger was making it difficult to keep the slow pace. He wanted to storm ahead, kick in the doors, and grab the Crooked Man. He wanted to handcuff him and drag him back to the Business Office where Snow could deliver the final blow. He wanted to—

“Sheriff, wait up, please,” Tim called.

Bigby glanced back and stopped apologetically.

“Thanks,” the boy said breathlessly, moving a little faster.

By the time they reached the end of the long hall, Bigby could hear someone laughing through a pair of double-wide doors. Bigby reached for one of the handles, but Tim stopped him hurriedly.

“No, wait! I…I don’t think you want to touch that, Sheriff.”

Bigby looked at the silver handles and his glare deepened. Tim took one of the knobs and stepped ahead of him. The laughter stopped immediately.

“Sheriff Wolf to see you, sir,” he introduced formally.

Bigby followed Tim into the room. Everyone looked up at him in unison. Whatever the atmosphere of the room had been before, it was thick now with tension. Jersey glared at the sheriff behind his tinted glasses. They did little to hide how bruised and beaten he was. Dee and Dum didn’t look much better. They stood in separate corners of the room, glaring warily at each other. Georgie was splayed a little on a couch, his arms hooked over the back of it lazily as he gave the sheriff a cool glance. Vivian sat behind him in a separate chair, her head bent as she stared at her hands in her lap.

Bigby looked past them all to the man in the corner. His back was to the room, his gaze focused on a roaring fire. One of his hands was clutched loosely around the curved, wooden handle of a cane.

Jersey got up from his chair and stormed over to the sheriff. With one lazy gesture, the Crooked Man stopped him.

“Thank you, Tim,” the man murmured in a warm, friendly voice. His accent was grand and stilted. “I know the sheriff isn’t the most…accommodating sort, but you did very well. You can go now.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tim smiled, closing the door behind himself.

The man turned around slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. He was slender to an extreme. His cheekbones protruded sharply, and his fingers around the cane were thin, pale, and bony. His complexion was sallow, almost sickly in its pallor. The skin beneath one eye had been pulled down drastically by—Bigby imagined—some sort of magical incident, leaving one eyeball perpetually wide and shiny in the dim light. His black, striped suit clung to him like a second skin. An orange turtleneck hugged his slender form as twin gold chains draped down from his neck. A gold pocket watch chain swung gently as he walked with slow steps.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Sheriff?” the man wondered. “You look positively drained. Please, I insist. We have a great deal to discuss.”

Bigby watched the Crooked Man settle onto his own couch. He rested both his hands firmly on his cane and looked up at the sheriff with a cool glance, smiling once. Bigby reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He put it between his lips and lit it without looking away. The Crooked Man watched, his expression becoming unamused. Bigby’s lighter flashed across his eyes, illuminating the cold glare of a wolf who had finally caught his prey.


	27. Cry Wolf

The Crooked Man gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, Sheriff. You’ve come a long way. You must be tired.”

Bigby breathed out a long trail of smoke, glaring coolly at the man. Peripherally, he saw Jersey slowly pull a gun out and rest it in his lap. Of the six other people in the room, three hearts were beating out of control, two were a little fast, and one was completely and utterly calm.

The Crooked Man offered a thin smile when Bigby didn’t move. “If my envoys are correct, you haven’t had a lot of rest recently. Please, Sheriff, _relax_ for a moment, won’t you? I promise you; my men will be on their best behavior. No harm will come to you.”

The sheriff took another long drag.

“Do you want a drink? Something to eat, perhaps? Vivian makes a very nice, very…it’s elegant, really, her carpaccio. It’s lobster, sirloin…” The Crooked Man’s mouth curved into a somewhat disapproving grimace when the sheriff didn't react. “Well, gramercy, take a seat at the very least. Let us be civilized about this, Sheriff.”

“I’m here,” Bigby finally spoke, “for one reason and one reason only.”

“Really,” the Crooked Man replied dryly. He leaned forward a little on his cane, pressing both hands against its wooden handle calmly.

“Yeah. You and me? We’re not friends, and you’re in no position to be offering me anything.”

“On the contrary, Sheriff—and I don’t wish to contradict you—but your initiative and mine have been friendly for quite some time now. Ever since I came aboard these shores, you know, Fabletown has been _most_ accommodating to even the humblest of my ventures.”

Bigby’s expression darkened. “That was _Crane_ that let you do whatever the fuck you wanted,” he said, his voice turning into a growl on the name. “Business Office is under new management, and I am not Crane.”

“No,” the Crooked Man mused, cocking his head a little. “No, you aren’t like him at all.”

Bigby glanced down at his cigarette and then dropped it to the stone floor. On edge, Jersey lunged forward, leveling a silver revolver at the sheriff’s head as Bigby stamped his cigarette out.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the Crooked Man demanded in an offended tone.

Jersey looked at him. “He was gonna—”

“Mr. Wolf is our _guest_ , and I have every intention of cooperating. So, don’t waste the silver. Sit _down_ , Jersey.”

Bigby threw a murderous glance at Jersey, and then he walked forward to the coffee table to glare at the man on the couch.

“Well, Sheriff,” the Crooked Man sighed. “For the sake of transparency, why don’t you tell us why you _are_ here? I think it would help settle everyone’s nerves,” he added, giving Georgie a pointed look when the man pulled out his own cigarette. Georgie rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and put the cigarette away again.

The sheriff crossed his arms. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to start with the women you’ve killed, the fact that you tried to kill me, or that you’re destroying this town.”

The Crooked Man hummed softly. “Quite a rap sheet, if I do say so myself. Tell me, Sheriff, which women am I accused of murdering?”

“Faith and Lily,” Bigby spat. “The girls who worked at the Pudding and Pie with this fucker.” He gestured sharply at the club owner before he refolded his arms.

“And you say _I_ am responsible for their deaths? Mm. I assume, by your confidence, that you must have some form of proof of this, yes?”

“Your little fuckin’ servant over there told me,” the sheriff replied, inclining his head towards Jersey.

The devil scoffed. “That’s a _fuckin’_ lie! I didn’t say anything like that! I—”

“It’s fine,” the Crooked Man murmured soothingly. He waved a hand at him placatingly. “Calm yourself, Jersey.”

“All I said was that this was your town ‘n nothin’ wouldn’t happen without your approval! That’s it! That’s all!”

The Crooked Man offered a demure smile. “Ah, if only that were true.” He sighed softly and looked up at Bigby again. “The women you mentioned…Well, I don’t relish telling you that you aren’t _too_ far off base. The killings were, regrettably, perpetrated by an employee of mine. It’s a very unfortunate bit of business, but…I promise you, Sheriff, that the matter will most certainly be dealt with internally.”

“An unfortunate bit of _business_?” Bigby repeated in a disgusted tone. “I want a name.”

“Sheriff,” the Crooked Man murmured, his voice nearing a tired groan. “I have complete respect for you and your job. I do hope you know that. But I simply cannot divulge that information.” Bigby’s expression grew murderous, and his hands tightened into fists. “You really shouldn’t worry yourself, Sheriff. As I’ve said, I’ve got the matter completely under the control. The guilty will certainly be punished; I can assure you of that.”

“No. I’m taking the murderer in right now.”

“Yeah right,” Jersey muttered under his breath.

One of the Tweedles leaned up in his chair—Dee. “What do you think this is, some kind’a negotiation?” Bigby turned very slowly to glare at him. Dee shrank back a little and then continued hoarsely. “Th-the man said he’d take care of it. So, why don’t you take the hint ‘n get out?”

“Tweedle Dee,” the Crooked Man implored. “Please, there’s no need for such hostility towards our guest.”

“You know,” Bigby said quietly, his eyes drifting from one pair of eyes to another. “You’re really startin’ to piss me off. _I’m_ the law here, not you. Not him. And you’re going to tell me who the fuck murdered those girls right _fucking_ now.”

Dum scoffed. “You think we’re scared’a you?” he muttered in a slightly trembling voice. “You’re nothin’ but a—”

“That’s enough!” the Crooked Man said, banging his cane once firmly against the ground. Dum stopped immediately, giving the man on the couch a wary look. The Crooked Man shook his head and looked up at Bigby again. “I was really hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this, Sheriff, but I understand your position perfectly.” He sighed quietly. “In the interest of preserving our alliance—”

“We don’t _have_ an alliance,” Bigby interrupted gruffly.

The Crooked Man ignored him. “If you simply _must_ know who perpetrated the deaths of those poor, unfortunate girls, it was Georgie.”

Bigby looked slowly at the pimp. Georgie glanced at the man on the couch and then he met the sheriff’s glare evenly.

“However,” the Crooked Man continued, “as I said, I will be handling the matter myself, if you don’t mind.”

“The fuck you will,” Bigby said through his teeth, rage constricting his chest. “He’s coming with—”

“Uh-uh,” Jersey shouted, pushing off his chair. “You asked for a name, ‘n you got it. You have what you wanted, so why don’t you fuck off before—”

“ _Sit. Down. Now_ ,” the Crooked Man ordered.

Jersey faltered and backed up again.

Georgie glanced at the man opposite him again. “Yeah, I killed ‘em,” he shrugged. “So fookin’ what? You should’a jus’ kept your nose where it fookin’ belonged.”

“Georgie,” Vivian whimpered behind him, pressing one hand to the ribbon around her neck.

“ _Why_?” the sheriff growled. “Why the fuck did you kill them?”

“Does it matter?” Georgie wondered calmly.

“It fucking matters to me.”

The Crooked Man sighed before the pimp could answer. “Look, the fact is…Georgie here misinterpreted one of my instructions and—”

“ _Misinterpreted_?” Georgie scoffed.

“—and I want to make things right. So, let’s work something out, Sheriff, mm?”

Georgie’s eyes widened, and he sat up. “What the fook’s there to work out?” he demanded. “I’m protected, aren’t I?”

The Crooked Man offered him a disdainful look. “Your _protection_ has limits, and I think you’ve far exceeded yours. That you could murder those women in cold blood like that…” He shook his head scornfully.

Georgie gaped at him. “You fookin’ _asked_ me to do it! You _told_ me to kill—”

The Crooked Man slammed his cane down again. “And _then_ for you to attempt to blame _me_ for it,” he muttered contemptuously. “You will be silent while we discuss what to do with you.”

Vivian looked between both of them, her eyes growing wide when she looked up at Bigby.

“This is right bollocks it is!” Georgie exclaimed. He turned to glare at the others in the room. “You really gonna let ‘im do this to me?! You jus’ gonna _sit_ there?!”

“So, what do you say, Sheriff?” the Crooked Man wondered calmly. “Can we discuss terms? You can have Georgie. Consider it a gift ensuring our continued cooperation.”

“What the hell?!” Vivian suddenly exclaimed.

“Take _this_ fooker!” Georgie shouted, waving a hand at the Crooked Man. “Take all of ‘em! I didn’t fookin’ start this!”

“Don’t make any trouble, Georgie,” the devil warned.

“Are you seriously throwin’ me under the fookin’ carriage?” the pimp demanded heatedly, turning his glare back on the Crooked Man. “After everythin’ I’ve fookin’ done for you!”

“Quiet, Georgie,” the man responded derisively. He looked up at the sheriff again with a dispassionate expression. “Go on. Take him and let us be done with this. I ask for nothing in return. This will be the first step towards our continued cooperation in—”

“No fucking deals,” Bigby said through his teeth. “This shit—it’s over. Get the fuck up. I’m taking you both in.”

The Crooked Man’s expression darkened dangerously. “I’d advise you to rethink your approach, Bigby,” he said very slowly.

“Get _up_.”

“You can’t just ‘and me over!” Georgie shouted. “What the _fook_ is this shit?! You said you’d cover for us!”

“For minor infractions,” the Crooked Man spat. “Not _murder_. Certainly not _double_ murder!”

“Just go with him, Georgie,” Jersey growled. “You’re gonna sink us all!”

“What is _wrong_ with you?!” Vivian demanded, stepping closer to Georgie. “You’re really just gonna sell him out? Just like that?!”

Bigby stared at her in confusion.

“You think I give a _fook_ if I’m the one who—” Georgie took Vivian’s hand tightly. He led her to the back of the room near a massive stained-glass window. “Who the _fook_ do you think you fookers are?!”

“Just surrender!” Jersey called.

“Get the fuck outta here!” Dee seconded shrilly.

“I do apologize, Sheriff,” the Crooked Man sighed lightly. “You’re not seeing us at our best. I think it’s best of you leave now.”

“There’s no way I’m goin’ with ‘im!” Georgie hollered, his hand tight around Vivian’s. “Are you _fookin’_ kiddin’ me?!”

The Crooked Man glanced at him and then at the sheriff again. “Things are about to get unpleasant, and I would rather it if you weren’t here to watch. Please forgive me, Sheriff.”

“Get the _fook_ away from me!” Georgie shouted.

“Everybody just calm the _fuck_ down!” Bigby ordered loudly.

“You lot can go join that whore at the bottom of the lake for all I care!” Georgie roared over him. “But this _wolf_ isn’t takin’ me anywhere! I’ll roll over on the lot’a you ‘fore I let that shit ‘appen!”

Bigby gripped the coffee table and shoved it out of the way. “I’m running out of patience,” he growled. “I don’t have time to fuck around here. Get the _fuck_ up!”

The Crooked Man raised a thin hand to his forehead. “This could have gone so well,” he sighed regrettably. “But you just _had_ to complicate things, didn’t you? To speak the truth, I’ve never really been a very good mediator. Why negotiate when you can just _decide_?”

The Crooked Man’s gaze flicked past Bigby. The sheriff turned to see a wide, floor-length mirror. For several seconds, it simply reflected the room. Bigby didn’t immediately notice the eighth person until she turned around slowly. She gave a malicious grin with wildly amused eyes, and the sheriff’s heart stopped. 

Mary’s smile grew wider. She strutted closer to the mirror, tucking the single lock of red hair behind her ear. Her pale fingers reached through the glass and gripped the golden frame. She stepped out from the mirror casually.

She ignored the sheriff for the moment, chuckling quietly to herself as she sauntered slowly over to the Crooked Man. “Hello, dear,” she purred. “Did I miss anything good?” Her gaze flicked to Bigby, and she gave him a leisurely once-over. “Well, look at you. All fixed up. How’s the wound?” she added in a loud whisper. Her grin widened sadistically again.

Bigby was so focused on her that he didn’t hear Dee behind him until it was too late. A chair crashed over his back, and Mary whirled around. She kicked the sheriff powerfully in the chest, sending him back several steps. He hit the ground hard as his eyes flashed yellow. Everyone gathered around him as Mary began pacing.

He didn’t bother fighting the first threshold this time.

Chaos erupted everywhere.

Green light exploded at the same time that Dee and Dum grabbed their shotguns. Jersey Devil roared in an ancient voice at the same time that the Crooked Man stood up from his couch. Mary let out a loud, amused laugh while Vivian grabbed Georgie’s arm and tried to keep him from the fight.

Bigby extended his claws and pulled himself to his feet. He struck Dee first, tossing him out of the way easily. Dee’s shotgun hit the wall and misfired, the blast deafening everyone in the small room. The wolf caught the devil when he tried to lunge at him. Jersey tried to sweep his remaining antler at Bigby’s chest, but the wolf caught it and wrenched the devil to one side. Jersey hit the end of a couch and flipped over it.

“Oi, over ‘ere!” Georgie suddenly shouted.

Mary gave another loud, thrilled laugh as he tossed something to Dum—the silver gun. Dum held it up swiftly. Bigby barely had time to dodge to the side before another shot echoed through the room. The stained-glass window at the back of the room shattered from the bullet, bathing the room in magical blue light. Vivian screamed and ducked for cover behind the bar. Georgie checked on her and then grabbed a steak knife off a buffet counter.

“You’re fookin’ done, Wolf,” he taunted, spinning the knife once through his fingers.

Jersey grabbed Dee’s shotgun and threw it back to the Tweedle as he climbed back over the couch.

Behind the others, Bigby saw Mary kick a few shards of glass from the broken window. “Come on,” she hummed casually, holding her arm out to the Crooked Man. “I think we’re pretty much done here.”

“ _Stop_!” Bigby ordered in a growl.

Mary glanced back at him. “Until next time, Wolfie,” she grinned. She winked at him, and then, in the flash of blue light, she and the Crooked Man were gone.

Bigby growled again. He tried to lunge at Georgie first, but someone grabbed his arms and pulled him back violently. Bigby struggled against Dee’s grip, growling again as the man forced his arms out. Dum raised his shotgun, and Bigby kicked his foot out violently. The gun slipped from the Tweedle’s grasp and landed across the room.

Georgie pushed Dum out of the way, brandishing his knife. “I’d like to say it was nice knowin’ you,” he muttered, “but I’ll be glad to see your insides turned out.”

Georgie thrust the knife forward. Bigby managed to jerk to one side. The knife missed him and ran through Dee’s stomach. His brother cried out his name as the Tweedle choked and fell to the ground. Dum held up the silver gun again at the same time that Georgie tried to stab the wolf again. Bigby caught him swiftly, grappling for control of the blade.

“Outta the fuckin’ way!” Dum shouted shakily. “I can’t get a fuckin’ shot!”

Bigby wrapped his hands around Georgie’s, struggling to the stop each thrust. Vivian cried Georgie’s name shrilly as Dum ordered him to move again. Bigby kicked a leg out to Dum. A shot deafened them when Dum pulled the trigger. The gun went tumbling across the floor at the same time that a bullet sailed past Bigby far too close. Dum gave a wordless shout and rushed to his brother’s side. He placed his hands over his wound, trying to staunch the bleeding as best as he could. Georgie thrust the blade dangerously close to Bigby’s stomach. The wolf grabbed the knife and hissed at the burn of silver. The blade cut his fingers and palm open, and his eyes flashed a more brilliantly at the scent of his sizzling skin. He kneed Georgie as hard as he could and managed to turn the blade around forcibly. Georgie tried to fight him, but Bigby pushed his hands back. The bloody knife sunk into Georgie’s stomach, and he faltered. The club owner gasped, spluttered, and fell back several steps.

“Oh God!” Vivian screamed, rushing to him.

Bigby tried to lunge towards the magic portal after Mary and the Crooked Man, but Jersey caught him and threw him back. He whirled a long floor lamp around violently. The wolf managed to catch it and wrestle it away. He saw Vivian pull Georgie through the portal, and he growled again. He threw Jersey and the floor lamp to one side powerfully. The devil landed hard and slid several feet away. Bigby tried to make it to the portal again, but the devil crawled forward swiftly and grabbed his leg. Bigby picked the coffee table up and threw it down over Jersey’s head. The wooden furniture broke in half, and the devil stopped struggling. When Bigby was free, he tore across the room and breathlessly threw himself through the broken window.


	28. Chapter 28

Bigby staggered out onto a darkened street in New York City. He looked around wildly and saw Vivian working Georgie into the back of a black sedan. She met Bigby’s yellow eyes fearfully and then ran around the car, jumped into the driver’s seat, and hit the gas. Bigby lunged after the vehicle. It managed to make it a few feet before he caught the bumper. He growled in pain and effort as he lifted the rear end of the car up off the pavement. The tires squealed shrilly and hummed as Vivian kept her foot pressed on the gas pedal.

Bigby saw her staring at him with wide eyes in the rearview mirror, terror draining the blood from her face. The second threshold crept over him as he held the back of the car up. Black fur coated his arms, and his shirt ripped open and fell to the ground in tatters. He growled again, his muscles straining less to keep the car up. For a single, solitary moment, Bigby and Georgie were at a stalemate.

Then the bumper broke off.

The vehicle crashed back to the ground with a loud whine. It jolted forward down the street at a breakneck speed. Bigby tore after it, using his hands and feet to propel himself forward. Vivian drove erratically in her effort to escape him. She screeched around street corners and lunged across busy cross sections. Other cars on the street spun out of control or ran over sidewalks. A litany of car horns and angry shouting were left in her wake. Bigby pushed himself as hard as he could, sticking to the shadows between streetlights as best he could. His yellow eyes shone in the dark, reflecting street and car lights, but Bigby knew he was moving fast enough that no one would catch a clear glimpse of the black beast.

He was so concerned with maintaining discretion that he nearly got hit by a semitruck in an intersection. He reeled back and dodged around it as swiftly as he could, but by the time he reached the next street corner, the black sedan was gone. He looked around wildly before he burst through the door of an apartment building. He bounded up ten flights of stairs as rapidly as he could, slamming into walls and sliding across tiled floors. When he reached the roof, he looked around for the vehicle. For a long, terrible moment, he thought he’d lost them, but then Vivian’s car came careening into view again on a road parallel to the building the wolf was on. Bigby took off after them again, leaping between buildings lithely to keep up.

Vivian began to slow when she thought she’d lost her pursuer. She was at a more suitable driving speed when Bigby caught up. He threw himself off a building when he was in reach and landed on top of her car hard enough to dent the roof. Vivian screamed inside the vehicle and twisted the wheel desperately to shake him off. The wolf gripped the sides of the roof with long claws. Vivian panicked; it took her a moment to think more rationally, and then she slammed on the brakes. Tires skidded across the road, and the car swung around to one side. Bigby flew off the roof. He landed hard on the street and rolled several times as the car started again and took off down a wide alley.

Bigby groaned in pain, clutching his ribs as he pulled himself back up. He made it to the end of the alleyway dazedly only to see that the car had turned back around. Vivian’s eyes were terrified as Georgie shouted at her weakly. Vivian shook her head swiftly, tears streaming from her eyes, and then she jumped a little when Georgie yelled again. She stared at the wolf with wide eyes, and then she hit the gas.

Bigby barely had time to register what was about to happen. He lunged gracelessly to one side, his claws digging painfully into the mortar of the building beside him. The car whizzed past him closely enough to whip his fur back. Bigby climbed the rest of the way to the roof, ignoring the screaming protest of his claws. He jumped across buildings again until he relocated the black sedan.

It had jumped the curb and stopped right next to the entrance of the Pudding and Pie. By the time Bigby got to the edge of the roof, he saw Vivian working a staggering, weakened Georgie into the club. Her eyes danced around street corners anxiously for the wolf’s approach, and then she slammed the busted door closed behind them.

The wolf panted and rested his hands on the edge of the roof. Clothes whipped back and forth in the windy night, and Bigby glanced back to see a long clothesline draped between buildings. He grimaced briefly, grabbed fresh clothes, and jumped off the roof. He hit the ground hard and then ducked into an alleyway long enough to shift again. His pain only increased, but he tried to ignore it as best he could. He dressed quickly. The clothes were a surprisingly decent fit, if something he wouldn’t necessarily pick for himself, but he hardly paid attention as he buttoned up the dark shirt.

A bloody trail led from the back of the car across the pavement to the club. Bigby pushed the broken door open. Georgie’s footsteps slipped and slid against the wooden floor, smearing the boards with crimson. Copper filled Bigby’s nostrils, and he looked ahead grimly as he walked around the blood. As he got closer to the large room near the back, he could hear Vivian and Georgie talking urgently.

“Come on!” Vivian insisted in a loud whisper. “W-we can’t stay here! He could be here any minute! Georgie, _please_ , just…a little further!”

Georgie gave a strained groan and coughed. “Jus' 'ang on,” he garbled hoarsely. “I-I need a minute.”

Bigby pushed past the plum curtain. The lights were dim, but he could easily see the club owner slumped bloodily in a booth near the stage. Vivian was kneeling beside him, both of her hands wrapped desperately around his.

“Shit,” Georgie rasped when he glanced up. “’Ello, Bigby.” He groaned and spat a glob of blood on the floor. “I ‘oped you’d come to your senses…” He lifted himself to his feet with difficulty. Bright red blood slipped through the fingers he kept clutched over his stomach and pooled on the floor. “Crooked Man’s the one you wan’. But o’ course…you’re too much of an idiot to see that…or maybe you jus' like me too much to let me go.”

Bigby’s jaw was tight as he walked through the room. “I’m taking you in, Georgie, and then I’m going after the Crooked Man. Let’s go.”

Georgie fell against the railing in front of the stage with a weak laugh. “You gonna carry me, then?”

“Please, Sheriff!” Vivian cried, placing herself between them. “Haven’t you done enough? Look at him! He’s dying!”

“Viv,” Georgie warned through bloodied lips.

Bigby stared at her. “You can’t seriously want to protect this guy after what he did.”

Vivian looked away and then glared defiantly at the sheriff. “I’m not going anywhere. This isn’t his fault!”

“He _murdered_ Faith and Lily! He’s the reason they’re dead!”

“Look, I know he made a few mistakes. We all have, but—”

“A few _mistakes_?” Bigby repeated incredulously. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing—that man made sure those girls couldn’t talk with those goddamn ribbons, and then he killed them! You’re _wearing_ one yourself! Doesn’t that _bother_ you? Even just a little? Knowing that man _murdered_ your—”

“Of course it does!” Vivian shrieked. “Those girls…they’re like my—”

“Oh, so it’s all my fookin’ fault then?” Georgie growled bitterly. “You fookin’—” His words were stolen by another strangled groan.

“Georgie, I didn’t mean—”

“You gonna throw me to the fookin’ wolf, too?” Georgie shouted, his voice breaking. “You know I didn’t ‘ave a goddamn choice! What the fook— _I did what I ‘ad to_! You can’t fookin’ blame me for that!”

“Then why’d you do it?” Bigby demanded angrily. “If it’s not your fault, then what the _fuck_ happened?!”

“Look,” Georgie gasped, his fingers shaking against his stomach. “Faith ‘n the others tried to pull a runner on us. As you can imagine, the Crooked Man wasn’t too thrilled. But o’ course, the big boss didn’t want to get his fookin’ ‘ands dirty…so ‘e told me to take care of it. You think I don’t know what that fookin’ means? Either I do as ‘e says, or I’m the one gettin’ dealt with. So, I fookin’ killed ‘em, ‘n I’d do it again. The Crooked Man gave the order. He told me to kill ‘em, ‘n then 'e fookin’ sold me out when the water got hot.”

“You’re still the one who fucking did it,” Bigby said through his teeth.

“Fine,” Georgie spat. “Believe what you wan’ in your own little black ‘n white world, Bigby. I’m fookin’ dyin’ anyway. So go ahead ‘n arrest me. It won’t fookin’ bring Lily or Faith back. It won’t free your little friend Nerissa; I’m just the sap takin' the fall for the ‘ole thing.” Georgie shook his head, his skin growing paler in the plum lighting. “Must be so fookin’ easy bein’ you, Bigby. Jus’ come in ‘ere, blame me for all this fookin’ shit—job done, right? Georgie’s the bad guy. Fook that. It was all the Crooked Man’s fookin’ fault. What was I supposed to do?!”

“You could’ve let them go!” Bigby exclaimed, startling Vivian. “You could’ve _freed_ Faith and Lily from those fucking ribbons! They wanted to run? You could’ve fucking let them instead of murdering them!”

Georgie shook his head, a flicker of desperation entering his expression. “You don’t know what the fook you’re talkin’ about. If I’d freed them—” He stopped and glanced at Vivian. She dropped her eyes. Georgie’s expression hardened, and he glared at Bigby. “What the fook would you ‘ave me do, kill ‘er?! It was—”

“Georgie, don’t,” Vivian warned in a thick voice.

“It was them or her,” Georgie finished. “I fookin’ chose her. So, tell me, _Sheriff_ , if freein’ Lily’d meant your precious Snow White had to die…” Georgie looked away. “I didn’t have a fookin’ choice.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the sheriff demanded.

“This is the original,” Georgie said, placing a bloody hand on Vivian’s shoulder. She looked up at the sheriff woefully. “The Girl with the Ribbon. I’m sure you’ve ‘eard the stories. Couldn’t take it off, couldn’t talk about it. She used her little purple ribbon to make more. To keep our girls quiet. To ensure absolute discretion.”

Vivian looked away, her eyes filling as the sheriff stared at her. “You _promised_ you wouldn’t!” she cried.

“All that magic’s connected to this little thing,” Georgie continued weakly. He looked at Vivian’s ribbon pointedly. “You remove ‘ers, the spell’s broken. They’re all free. But you know what fookin’ ‘appens to ‘er? Same thing that ‘appened to Faith, to Lily. So, don’t you fookin’ come in ‘ere ‘n tell me I fooked up. I had to make a _choice_ , and I fookin’ made it.”

“What the hell, Georgie?!” Vivian shouted, stepping away from him. “We were supposed to look out for each other! I trusted you!”

“Don’t fookin’ blame me,” he replied tiredly. “You’re not innocent ‘ere, either, love.”

“Those were _your_ ribbons?” Bigby demanded incredulously. “You’ve been…you’ve been _helping_ him? You—you enslaved those girls? _Why_? How could you do that to them?”

Vivian gave him a tortured look, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“I thought you cared about them!”

“I _do_!” she shrieked. “Of _course_ I do!”

“Then how the _fuck_ could you—”

“You have to understand!” she exclaimed, shaking. “ _Nobody_ was supposed to die! When we built this place, it was just a stupid idea, a gimmick! ‘Discretion is our guarantee.’ That’s how it started, anyway. This was supposed to be _our_ place. _We_ were gonna be in charge for once, and nobody would try to control or use us ever again. That was the point…Then the Crooked Man showed up, everything just turned to shit.”

“So,” Georgie muttered thickly, “d’you get it now? Why I couldn’t just…” He groaned and bent a little. Blood slipped through his fingers more voluminously as he glared at the sheriff. “If you think it’s so fookin’ simple, then you do it.” Vivian looked at him in shock. “Go ahead! Fookin’ kill ‘er then!”

Vivian stumbled back in fear. “What are you doing?!” she shouted at Georgie.

He ignored her, his gaze fixed on Bigby’s. “Break the spell why don’t you! Save the fookin’ day!”

“ _Stop it_!”

“I told you! Sometimes, all your options’re shit!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” the sheriff demanded.

“Pull the ribbon, set those girls free! Set that little sad little bird'a yours free if it’s so fookin’ easy! _Do it_!”

“ _Georgie_!” Vivian screamed.

“ _Do it_!”

“Shut the fuck up!” the sheriff ordered. “I’m not playing this fucking game. Don’t turn this around on her; you’re—”

“How _could_ you?!” Vivian cried. She turned on Georgie, her face growing red from her tears. “You think this is hard for you?” she sobbed.

Georgie blinked at the look she gave him, his resolve faltering. “Vivian—” 

“My life is such a _fucking burden_ on your conscience!”

“Vivian, I didn’t—”

“Don’t I get a say?! It’s _my_ life! Like it was either of yours to give up in the first place!”

Georgie tried to reach for her. “Viv, I wasn’t gonna let him—”

“ _Shut up_!”

“Viv—”

“I know what I’ve done,” Vivian breathed. She lifted a hand to her ribbon.

Georgie tried to lunge forward and fell against a table. “Wait!” he gasped, extending a bloody hand to her.

“Vivian,” Bigby said quickly, holding his hands out. “Just—Vivian, just calm down. It’s alright. Take your hand off the—”

“No,” she cried. “I’m so _sick_ of everyone thinking they can just do whatever they want with _my life_!” Vivian pressed both her hands to her face, wiping her tears away. Both men relaxed a little. Bigby edged closer to her as she turned and stared up at the Pudding and Pie poster. Georgie threw the sheriff a terrified look and then focused on Vivian. “I thought it would be different here,” she said in a high voice. “But it’s all the fucking same.”

“Vivian,” Georgie replied, his tone tortured. “Love, I didn’t mean—”

“Do you think I wanted to be this person?” she demanded. She turned around, her eyes glistening with fresh tears that fell swiftly. “What I did to Faith and Lily…to _Nerissa_ …to all of them…” She lifted a hand to her ribbon again.

“Vivian!” Georgie pleaded, his hand shaking in midair. “Wait, _please_ , I—”

“Every single day, I have to look Gwen and Hans in the eye and pretend I don’t care. I have to forget what I’ve done to them, what I took away from them.” Emotion bled into her voice, and she looked at the sheriff. “I look at Nerissa, and I _hate_ myself!” she cried.

“Vivian,” Georgie begged. “Please, don’t—”

“I can’t pretend anymore.” She gripped one end of the ribbon firmly.

Bigby held up his hands. He was too far to stop her. “Vivian, wait! Don’t do this. Just talk to me. It’s going to be alright. Talk to me.”

Vivian shook her head. “I didn’t want to be this,” she whimpered.

“Vivian, look at me. It’s going to be alright. Let go of the ribbon. Just talk to me.”

“Vivian!” Georgie cried again. He tried to reach her and fell to the ground. “Don’t! Please! I’m beggin' you!”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Bigby lunged forward—too late.

Vivian pulled the ribbon free and closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Georgie.”

“ _Vivian! No!_ ”

Bigby jerked to a stop, his eyes wide. A red line appeared across Vivian’s neck where her ribbon had sat—a quick, clean cut. It was over in the blink of an eye. Vivian’s body fell one way, her head the other. The purple ribbon fluttered to the ground beside her slowly.

“ _Fook_!” Georgie screamed. “ _Vivian_!” He crawled to her bloodily as Bigby stared in horror. Blood pooled beneath her body, staining the little ribbon.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the sheriff breathed in a wavering voice.

“ _No_!” Georgie sobbed. “No, no, no! Why’d you have to do that, Vivian?!” The man leaned across her body, clutching at her as cries wracked through him. “I didn’t fookin’ mean it! I was just…” He gasped and clutched at his stomach. He coughed up another mouthful of blood and then fell back against the column behind him. Vivian’s ribbon caught on his shoe. He reached for it with difficulty and placed it shakily into her hand.

Bigby ran a hand down his face and then rested it over his mouth for a long moment, unable to look away from Vivian’s head. “Get up,” he ordered finally in a hoarse voice. “Georgie, get _up_.”

“Don’t think so, Bigby,” the man panted. His tears ran into the blood dripping from his mouth. He moved his hands from the wound weakly. His intestines breached the slice in his stomach, and he groaned again. “I’m gonna die ‘ere. I think we both know that. Just…make sure you give the Crooked Man the same treatment when you find ‘im. Really fook ‘im up for me, alright?” He looked at Vivian. “For both of us…”

Bigby frowned grimly. “I don’t even know where—”

“Old foundry by the river,” Georgie mumbled. “Alright? Sheppard Metalworks. He’ll be there…the fookin’ asshole.” Georgie’s hands fell to the ground limply. “You wanna finish me off now? Or do you plan to kick me around a little first? Rip my limbs off one by one? That’s what you wanna do, right? Justice for those girls. Fine, but wha’ever it is…jus' get it over with. I’m done.”

“That’s not who I am,” Bigby said quietly.

“Look, no more games, alright?” he replied. He reached into the back of his pants shakily and pulled his revolver out. He dropped it on the floor weakly. “We both know ‘ow this ends. Jus' make it quick.” Bigby’s eyes widened a little. “Look, I know wha’ I did, but I can’t do this myself, alright? It's not in me to quit. Let’s not draw it out. Just do it. Be quick about it. Don't fookin' leave me 'ere to suffer. You know as well as I do that I'm done for. It'll take an hour to die, maybe more.”

The sheriff looked at the gun for a long moment before he picked it up slowly. It felt wrong in his hands, cold and heavy. 

Georgie nodded. “C’mon, Bigby,” he gasped, wincing in pain. A silent groan left him in a breath. “Not your first time. Probably won’t be your last.” He reached for Vivian’s hand, interlacing his bloody fingers with her pale ones. He closed his eyes and leaned against the column. “Jus' make it quick.”

Bigby stared at the gun for a long time. He raised it slowly, pointed it at Georgie, and pulled the trigger.


	29. Chapter 29

Bigby’s cab pulled to a New York stop at the foundry. The sheriff stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at the large factory as he took a final drag from his cigarette. The place was lit up with bright lights, but he couldn’t see anything through the frosted windows. Thick steam billowed out from the smokestacks, but the building was otherwise quiet. A long black sedan with tinted windows had pulled up close to the graffitied wall beside the metal door. The sheriff dropped his cigarette and pressed a hand to the hood of the car as he passed. It was still warm; they couldn’t have gone far.

The door was locked when he tried it, of course. He lifted both hands to the curved handle and pushed down as hard as he could. His ribs ached in protest, but he didn’t relent until the handle popped off. Bigby slowly kicked the door open, and then he walked inside.

The hall was dark, but the sheriff’s eyes dilated swiftly. Along the edges of the walls, dozens of boxes waited, all stamped with the Crooked Man’s symbol. It was far too quiet inside. Bigby listened closely for the sounds of a heartbeat, but if the Crooked Man was here, he was too far away to hear.

When the sheriff reached the end of the long hall, he wrenched open the door to the center floor. Inside, the foundry was quiet but still very much active. They were melting something down in three massive smelters. Bigby saw a rolling cart filled to the brim with glittering silver rocks.

“Bigby Wolf,” a low, smoky voice murmured, amused. The sheriff glared as he followed the walkway around the smelters slowly. “Mm. The Big…Bad…Wolf. You used to be something…” She chuckled quietly, the sound reverberating from several directions.

The heat of the foundry clung to Bigby. He looked around warily, but Mary was nowhere to be seen. She was hidden in the shadows, waiting for her moment to strike.

The ground floor of the factory was bare of employees; they had clearly left in a hurry, discarding tools, aprons, and helmets on the floor carelessly.

Bigby continued up a couple steps to what appeared to be some sort of makeshift break room. A table waited with the chairs all pulled back across from a large bulletin board. Half a dozen photos were taped up in two even rows.

The first one was of Snow and Bigby, snapped sneakily from an alleyway across the street from them. Snow was smiling at someone out of frame, talking animatedly. Bigby was beside her, watching her talk with a cigarette between two fingers. The next picture was of three women walking down the street together—Nerissa, Faith, and Lily. Again, the youngest girl seemed unrecognizable as she laughed at something the others had said. Lily was giving a mischievous grin as Faith frowned at her. Next to that was a picture of Snow and Holly walking into the Business Office—to take care of Lily’s funeral arrangements, Bigby realized grimly. Another showed Faith and Bigby talking in the alley that first night. He stared at that one for a long moment. He hadn’t noticed just how sad she really looked that night. The weight of her expression could only be matched by Nerissa’s. Looking at the photo of Faith with him and Faith with her friends, it was difficult to imagine they were the same person.

The next row had a picture of Bigby smoking with Woody outside the pawn shop and a picture of Faith whispering in Bigby’s ear. The last one showed Faith yelling at a distraught Nerissa. Bigby froze on that one. Faith looked entirely different. That playful, sad expression was gone. Something about her emerald eyes—rage that bordered on betrayal—darkened her features until they were unrecognizable. His eyes drifted to the picture of her from the alley again, and his frown deepened.

“They used to fear you,” Mary mused from the shadows. Bigby tore his gaze from the board, eyes darting around for the woman. “They’d hide anywhere their small…shivering bodies would fit.”

The sheriff’s expression darkened. He stepped away from the photos and continued down the open corridor. Something clattered in a locker room. He entered it slowly, searching the shadows with dilated eyes. He stopped at a worktable, glaring at a dozen silver bullets scattered carelessly across the wood.

“The Big Bad Wolf!” Mary whispered over his shoulder.

Bigby whipped around to an empty room. His eyes scanned the lockers before he determined he was alone. He glared again and turned around slowly. He didn’t have a chance to even react to Mary’s sudden appearance before her fist landed in his stomach.

Bigby fell back a few steps, grimacing as he lifted a hand to his side.

“Aw,” Mary hummed, noticing the movement. “Sorry, Wolfie, are you still sore?” Bigby saw long runes etched deep into the insides of her forearms as she circled him slowly. They glowed red and vibrant against her pale skin. “You know, it’s about time you showed up. It’s _rude_ to keep your hosts waiting.”

Bigby glared at her. “Had a few things to take care of first.”

“Little errand boy?” Mary smirked. “That’s nice.”

Bigby heard the Crooked Man’s heartbeat several seconds before he entered the room. The sheriff scowled at him, but Mary placed herself between both of them before Bigby could get any closer.

The Crooked Man offered him a wan smile. “Ah, Bigby…I see you’ve made it here in one piece. I do apologize, but I have some business to attend to. I leave you in the very capable hands of my associate.” The Crooked Man looked at Mary, who had a delighted glint in her eye. “Come find me when you’re finished, dear.”

“Don’t worry,” she purred. “This won’t take long.”

“Get out of my way,” Bigby ordered gruffly. “Don’t make this worse.”

“Aw,” Mary pouted, glancing at the other man. “He doesn’t wanna play with me.”

“I’m sure you’ll persuade him,” the Crooked Man replied dryly before he left.

“Cut this shit out!” Bigby growled. “I’m tired of these fucking games.”

Mary gave the sheriff a disappointed look. She clicked her tongue and shook her finger. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?” Mary grinned at the anger in Bigby’s glare. “Or was she too busy fucking whatever breeze drifted through town?”

The sheriff’s expression grew murderous.

“Well, c’mon, big boy. Don’t keep a lady waiting,” Mary murmured, waving him forward. The sheriff didn’t move, his hands curled tight at his sides. “What, not gonna hit me? Even after that jab? What, you think I can’t take it?”

She whirled around and kicked him hard in the chest. Bigby hissed and fell back against the table. Silver bullets clattered noisily to the concrete floor as he lifted a hand to his chest. Pain made his eyes flash yellow, and before he could resist, he was plummeting headfirst into the first threshold.

“Mm, and I thought you were supposed to heal fast or something,” Mary muttered before she grinned. “Silver really _does_ work on you, huh?” She went to kick him again, and he caught her leg. “Oh, not dead yet.” She jerked her leg away. Before the sheriff could interpret her next move, she ducked down and kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the ground on his back, and she jumped on top of him quickly.

“Get the fuck off me,” he growled, struggling to push her away as she straddled him.

“Ah, ah,” she corrected, grabbing his wrists. Her nails dug into his skin as she pinned his hips down with her own. “Is this really the best you got, Wolf?” She sighed heavily. “I’m disappointed. Guess what they say about you’s true. Your little leash holder really _has_ made you soft.”

He tried to kick her off, but she tightened her hold on him. Mary got one good punch in before Bigby caught her fist and squeezed it tightly. He pulled his other hand away from hers and hit her hard enough that she finally fell off him. He pulled himself upright quickly, but by the time he looked up, Mary was gone again. She laughed from somewhere in the shadow. Bigby saw a mirror against one of the lockers, and he growled angrily. He grabbed the edge of it and threw it to the ground.

Mary clicked her tongue. “Seven years bad luck,” she hummed as the glass shattered.

Bigby walked slowly back through the foundry with his claws extended. He could hear her all around him, but she sounded different and wrong. Her breaths had grown low and ragged. The soft sound of magic flitted through the factory like the wings of a bird. On the second floor, he saw another room full of mirrors. Something flashed in them, and Mary laughed quietly. The sound was high-pitched and grating, completely different than her usual smoky tone.

Bigby took a ladder up to one of the lower catwalks above the smelters when he heard her again. He saw a quick flash of her on the right and then, impossibly fast, another flash to the left. He walked forward warily. She came out of nowhere, so fast that he couldn’t even see her. Something sliced across his cheekbone like glass, but she was gone before he could grab her. He raised his arms defensively as she whipped past him again, cutting through his skin as she went. She moved back and forth, a nearly invisible blur, until his arms were sliced to ribbons. Each time he tried to catch her, she danced away and disappeared.

“Stop hiding, you fucking coward,” he roared. “Face me!”

A low, breathy laugh echoed through the room, reverberating gratingly off the high ceiling. Accompanying the unnatural, strangled chuckle, Bigby could hear bare feet walking on broken glass. At last, Mary came from the shadows, stalking forwards jerkily. If she had been scary before, she was downright terrifying now.

Runes were etched deep into her forearms, glowing a bright, bloody red. The whites of her eyes had turned coal black; her irises were a crimson so dark they almost looked black themselves. Her clothes were ancient and tattered, a plain white dressed stained red with blood. Glass protruded from her skin everywhere. Long, jagged shards broke through her cheeks and arms, stabbed through her chest and stomach, and glittered across her legs and feet, as if she had been violently pushed through a mirror or out a closed window. She opened her mouth and emitted an ungodly, inhuman sound. It vibrated through her, eerily similar to the sound of broken glass grinding together. Her bloody fingers ended in long, thin shards that reflected the room around her. They ran with blood, as if the shards had been forced under her fingernails. Despite the pain she should have been in, Bloody Mary was grinning at the wolf.

Bigby growled at her again, extended his claws. With each step she took, the glass embedded in her feet cracked and shattered loudly. Bigby tried to hit her, but she dodged with a piercing scream that made his ears bleed. She thrust a glass fingernail into the silver bullet wound, and Bigby’s eyes flashed wide. A wounded, wolfen whine slipped through his teeth before he caught it, and the second threshold threatened to overwhelm him. He ground his teeth and fought it. He tried to grab her, but she kicked him away. She wrenched a pipe off one of the smelters and swung it around. It connected with Bigby’s chest and knocked him back several clumsy steps. He nearly fell off the catwalk. He pushed off the railing to grab her, but she was already gone.

He looked around wildly. Before he could locate her, she was jumping on his back. He roared as glass dug deeply into his shoulders and back, cutting straight through muscle. She laced an arm around his throat and cut off his oxygen. Her runes burned his skin like an open flame, and he clawed at her skin. His claws screeched against her arm like glass, and his mind reeled at the pain. Shards broke from her skin in his wild struggle to buck her off. He walked backwards and slammed her into the railing of the catwalk, but it only made her tighten her grip. He spun and tried to throw her off, clawing at her glass-like arms more desperately. He hit the railing again, and then they were falling.

Bigby slammed into the ground hard. His breath rushed out of him in a sharp pant, and then he blacked out. He woke in the second threshold. His borrowed shirt was in tatters beside him, his pants tight around his legs. His claws clacked against the concrete as he tried to reorient himself. Mary was nowhere to be seen, but he could hear the crunch of her steps echo through the foundry. Bigby panted and lifted himself to his feet slowly. He clutched at his aching chest and then turned around when he heard a low, breathy chuckle.

He started to walk towards her, but he stopped when a second Mary appeared behind her. Another walked down the stairs between the smelters while a fourth leered at him from the second story. Dozens of mirror images climbed over railings and walked downstairs, converging on him like insects. Their slow advance was punctuated by the glass crunching below their feet and the cruelty of their smiles.

The horde gathered around him. There was a moment of utter stillness, and then, all at once, they attacked. Bigby threw one of them back, but three more took her place. The wolf roared and swung his arms to keep them back. Glass sliced through his fur everywhere. One Mary grabbed his arm as another jumped on his back. One stabbed him in the stomach while another ran her glass claws down his back. Bigby howled and threw the mirror image off, but another kicked him back into the crowd. Glass cut across his chest. They bounced him back and forth, biting, clawing, slicing, and kicking before he could try to push them away. The wolf managed to grab one and shoved her away only to be stabbed in the back by another. He kicked one away just for two more to tackle him. One landed on his back, her glass claws digging deep into his shoulders while another slashed at his chest.

Bigby roared in fury and pain. He fell to the ground when one of them kicked him back. Three grabbed his arms, four grabbed his legs, and then he was trapped on the floor, splayed before mirror images. Several jumped onto his chest, slashing and hacking and slicing. Shrill, high-pitched laughter vibrated through the room, agonizing the wolf’s sensitive hearing. He howled and closed his eyes tightly.

Suddenly, he felt it, and his heart stopped. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against it. It had been far too long since he’d faced it, and the third and final threshold had grown strong in his absence. Snow flashed through his mind, and then his thoughts went quiet.

When the wolf’s eyes opened again, there wasn’t a sliver of white or black in their yellow depths. The mirror images stepped back from him, watching him warily as he shifted one final time. The wolf rolled over slowly. Four massive, heavy paws hit the ground with audible thumps. A long, thick tail swept across the smelters as the wolf shook his massive shoulders. Thick black fur covered him completely, shaggy in the dim lighting. The wolf bared his teeth as a low, loud growl rumbled through his chest. The wolf shook his coat again violently enough to free him of the glass women clinging to him. One of his paws swept another aside swiftly. As the wolf came to his full height, his shoulders ran into one of the catwalks across the second floor. He reached back and grabbed it with his jaws, ripping it off and casting it aside with ease. The smelters were instantly dwarfed with his height even as the wolf spread his paws and bent his head low. One of the smelters dug into his back leg. With barely a thought, the wolf kicked it away. The massive smelter was forced back several feet from the simple sweep and crashed into the wall. The wolf’s hackles rose, and he snarled through his jaws as his ears flattened.

The mirror images all stared at him for a single moment, and then they rushed him. The wolf grabbed one Mary off his back in his jaws and flung her across the room. She shattered against the wall loudly with a sharp scream that was cut off immediately. The others echoed her scream until it shattered the windows high above. Glass rained down on the wolf, and he shook his coat to free himself of it. He picked another Mary up with his jaws and bit down hard enough that she shattered at once. Three mirror images jumped onto the wolf’s back, their arms disappearing under his thick fur. He reared up like a horse, paws swiping at the others as he rolled onto his back, shattering his riders. He landed against another smelter, crushing it beneath his weight. Silver liquid spilled out, burning the wolf’s tail. He rolled over with a low growl, crushing half a dozen mirror images as he found his feet again. One of them ran up with a metal pile and tried to stab it through his shoulder, but it didn’t manage to pierce his skin. The wolf gave a low growl and swept her away angrily. He crushed another with his paw in a lazy gesture as he stepped forward once.

He growled again. The low, rumbling sound vibrated the metal catwalks above him as dozens of new mirror images arrived. They jumped over railings and down stairs, each slashing their glass claws. One came with a silver knife. She slashed his paw swiftly, drawing a long river of blood. The wolf howled so loudly that several mirror images vibrated with the sound. He kicked the knife-wielder back violently and stood up on his back legs. He grabbed the catwalk high above, where more mirror images had gathered to jump him, and he brought the whole thing tumbling down with little effort. He discarded the catwalk violently, tossing it aside with a raw strength that sent the walkway crashing through the windows and rolling onto the road.

The wolf gave another low rumble and went to bite a glass Mary. She thrust a long metal pipe between his teeth, forcing his mouth open. The wolf struggled for a moment, his tail swishing angrily, before he clenched his jaw and crumbled the solid pipe with ease. He grabbed the woman in his mouth and shattered her quickly.

Despite his efforts, there were too many. No matter how many he broke, there were four new images to replace her, each one kicking and hitting, slicing and hacking. His yellow eyes caught sight of one glass Mary. She stood on the floor above, a mad grin on her face as he struggled with her mirror images. She clutched a silver dagger in her fingers and watched with a cocked head as the wolf’s tail swept another wave of glass women away.

Hundreds backed the massive wolf into a corner of the foundry. His own blood matted his fur from their cursed glass fingernails, pooling on the ground below his feet. The wolf gave a low growl and then ducked his head low.

When he began to inhale slowly, every single Mary froze solid and watched him warily. When his lungs were full, the wolf spread his paws, lowered his head even more, and blew. A furious wind roared through the foundry. Glass women fell and rolled back. They shattered and crashed against walls or smelters by the dozen. The sound of breaking glass was deafening to the wolf, but he didn’t relent until there was only one Mary remaining.

Her eyes were wide as she met his. She launched herself up off the ground and climbed the wall with long fingernails, her dagger held between her teeth. She scurried her way up to the highest catwalk and then pulled the knife from her mouth. With her other hand, she reached up and gripped one of the more massive shards of glass on her forehead. She pulled it out slowly, gasping in pain as a new trail of blood slipped down her cheek. Mary held the knife and shard tightly in either hand, and then she jumped off the catwalk.

The wolf jumped to meet her. His jaws caught her around the middle, his long teeth sinking deep into her glass-like skin. Mary released a shrill scream that broke the glass windows of the foundry’s office far off the ground. She brought her silver dagger and glass shard together, aiming for the wolf’s eye. It was mere centimeters away from his iris before the wolf bit down hard enough. Mary shattered in his jaws with another piercing scream, and then the wolf fell back to the ground. He released a loud, long howl and closed his yellow eyes tight.

It hurt. It hurt a lot to force the change to occur again. By the time he was back in his human form, Bigby was panting through his teeth and clawing at concrete. He was left kneeling on the floor, naked, wounded, and shaking. He pressed his forehead to the cold floor as sweat slipped down his skin. The silver knife wound on his hand burned, and the bullet hole in his side ached, but the other wounds had healed themselves during the third threshold. Even still, the sheriff was in agony from the transition. He clenched his jaw, his chest heaving as his mind slowly returned to him.

The first time this had happened, he’d been with Snow. She’d sat with him, murmuring to him quietly about nothing while he suffered through the transition. She was here this time too, in a manner of speaking. Her image danced across the backs of the sheriff’s eyes as he squeezed them shut. Her smile, her laugh, her lips against his. Bigby’s chest ached and his mind reeled, but he focused on her face as he slowly came down. His fingers shook violently on the floor. He lifted one hand to his eyes and pressed into them as he tried in vain to catch his breath. They were still yellow and would be for a while yet. The first time he’d changed, his eyes had been yellow and wild for days. He hoped it wouldn’t take as long this time.

Bigby took a long moment to collect himself. His limbs trembled with each breath, and his chest was on fire. His mind throbbed with a wild migraine as his thoughts conflicted between survival instincts that threatened to overwhelm him again and human instincts that recoiled from the Big Bad Wolf. The sheriff pushed both aside, desperately clinging to Snow. When the pain lessened, Bigby released a quiet, thick breath. He relaxed and flattened his hands against the concrete floor before he slowly lifted himself to his feet. He found where his pants lay in tatters and searched slowly for his handcuffs.

He looked up to see the Crooked Man watching him with wide, terrified eyes. The man was standing in the office high above, staring down through broken windows. Weak and shaking, Bigby staggered forward. He gripped the railing as he went, taking each step slowly. His clothes were gone, but his mind hadn’t quite returned enough to realize why that should feel uncomfortable. Instead, he walked in a bit of a daze, his knuckles growing pale each time he grabbed the railing for balance.

The Crooked Man was still facing the windows when Bigby arrived.

“I hope you don’t mind,” the man began in a somewhat shaken voice, “but…I’ve taken the liberty of laying out some clothes for you, Sheriff.”

Bigby’s eyes fell blearily to the desk. A pair of black slacks and a dark blue button-down sat under a brand-new pair of shoes. The sheriff didn’t think to question it. He dressed slowly, still a little unsteady, though he did his best to hide the fact.

“That’s better,” the Crooked Man hummed softly when he turned around. He nodded once was Bigby rolled his sleeves up to his elbows in his usual style. “They suit you. Though…you do look dreadful. Your eyes…they look rather frightening, if I may say so. How long _has_ it been since you…you know…were _him_?”

Bigby ignored the question. When he spoke, he surprised himself with the husky raggedness of his own voice. “Give me…one good reason why I shouldn’t—”

The Crooked Man moved swiftly. He pulled his hand out from behind his back and aimed a silver gun at Bigby’s head. The sheriff froze. For a brief, terrifying moment, Snow flashed through his mind. The sheriff tried to lunge forward to grab the weapon. The Crooked Man swiveled it a little and pulled the trigger. Bigby froze a second time as the bullet landed in the wall behind him.

“I won’t miss next time,” the Crooked Man warned. “This gun holds six rounds of specially designed silver bullets. Now, I admit, I may not be the best shot, but I can guarantee that at least one of these bolts will meet its mark, and you will find yourself rolling on the floor in agony, unable to heal yourself. Without Swineheart to save you, you will die. Is that reason enough for you, Sheriff?”

“Get that fucking gun out of my face,” Bigby growled in a gravelly voice.

“Whether this gun is lowered is entirely up to you. Before you do anything with me, I thought I should point out a few things. Snow White wants you to bring me back to the Woodlands, doesn’t she?”

Her name made the sheriff clench his jaw as he glanced at the gun. “She does,” he answered quietly. “What happens when you get there is another story.”

The Crooked Man scowled at him. “I’m not quite finished. You will bring me back to the Business Office _alive_.” Bigby crossed his arms, his glare turning murderous. “Look, all I ask for is the chance to speak for myself in front of the community. And I’m sure Miss White would agree that I should be given a fair trial.”

Bigby frowned. The skin around his eyes was dark and mottled. His irises still shone a brilliant, bright yellow. The Crooked Man’s expression tightened. He held his gun with a firm hand, waiting for any sign of attack.

“The whole town’ll be calling for your execution,” Bigby finally said. “Why the hell would you want me to bring you back there?”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, hm? Look, there’s no reason for us to be at each other’s throats here.”

“That’s funny,” Bigby grumbled, “coming from the guy pointing a fucking gun at my head.”

“This is just a precaution,” the Crooked Man shrugged. “If you had seen yourself down there…if you knew what you looked like at this very moment, I think you would understand my apprehension. I am no murderer, Mr. Wolf. I won’t kill you for the sake of it, and I didn’t kill those women. And…I think you know that.”

“Bullshit. Maybe you didn’t carry it out, but I don’t think Georgie was lying when he said you ordered their deaths.”

The Crooked Man pursed his lips. “Sheriff, come now. Georgie would say _anything_ to save himself. We both know hat.”

“Yeah. Funny thing about that is, he was bleeding out on the floor when he said it. Had nothing to gain from lying.”

The Crooked Man blinked twice in surprise and then held his gun more firmly. “The fact remains that I am a businessman, _not_ a killer.”

“You have a lot to answer for.”

“And I will. As long as you agree to my terms. I’m not saying another word on the subject until I am brought before the community.” The Crooked Man began backing away warily. The sheriff followed him slowly, tensed for an opportunity. “I don’t mean to belabor the point, but just so we’re perfectly clear. If you change your mind and decide to do something stupid…you won’t get your answers, and you will have a difficult time explaining yourself to Miss White and the rest of this miserable town. You’re often reckless, and I worry you’re not thinking of the consequences. Let me ask you an honest question, Sheriff. What do you really care about here? Justice? Or vengeance? Why are you _really_ here?”

“I’m here,” Bigby said slowly, angrily, “because you have infected Fabletown. When someone murders two of our own, it’s my fucking job to bring them in.”

“Then what are you doing here, Sheriff? You _know_ who murdered them already.” The Crooked Man narrowed his eyes. “Georgie…He’s dead, isn’t he? That’s what you meant earlier, isn’t it?”

Bigby didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The Crooked Man faltered briefly, but he didn’t take his eyes off the sheriff or lower the gun. “My point being: the killer has been dealt with. You’ve won.” Bigby’s expression darkened. “Look, I realize you have an obligation to bring me in for questions, but you can brighten up a _little_ , can’t you? A fellow might get jumped when you glower that like.” Bigby didn’t respond, and the Crooked Man licked his lips. “Then…shall we go?” he asked, squinting at the sheriff warily. “Let’s not dawdle. You know, I’m actually looking forward to seeing Miss White again. My previous interactions with her have gone quiet well.”

Bigby’s jaw tightened. “Give me the gun.”

“I think I’d rather hold onto it, if it’s all the same to—” 

Bigby lunged forward when the Crooked Man’s eyes darted to the left. He dodged the first bullet the man fired and grabbed the weapon. The silver-plated barrel burned through his fingers. He grunted and yanked it away from the Crooked Man’s hands. He threw it out the window, doing his best to ignore the way his shaking fingers hissed and sizzled. He grabbed the man’s wrists roughly and turned him around to cuff him.

“You’re under arrest,” he growled through his teeth. He gripped the man’s arm painfully and escorted him from the room. “You’ll be given a trial in front of your peers. And your punishment will follow.”


	30. Chapter 30

Bigby could hear the others arguing in the Witching Chamber well before he arrived. He pulled the Crooked Man along roughly, listening to each voice as they competed with each other. He could hear Beast, Gren, Holly, Bluebeard, Greenleaf, Jack, Beauty, and even Johann clamoring. Clearer to him than any other, though, was Snow. She was trying to call them to order, talking above the others with difficulty. The final bit of tension from the third threshold melted from the sheriff’s shoulders, despite the frustrated note in her tone.

The Crooked Man seemed to notice Bigby’s unconscious reaction. “Hm. Home at last, it seems,” he mused. “For you, anyway.”

“Shut up. Keep walking.”

As soon as they stepped into the cold, wide chamber, all the voices died down in unison. Snow pushed gently through the crowd to see Bigby escorting the cuffed man. She smiled in relief and breathed out. “He’s back,” she announced.

Gasps overtook the room as the Crooked Man finally made his grand entrance. Gren spat as they walked past and glared at the prisoner bitterly alongside Holly.

Snow’s face fell when she really got a good look at Bigby. His eyes had mostly returned to his usual brown on the car ride here, but there was still a ring of yellow around his pupils, and his skin was still dark and purplish. He was pale, sweaty, and seemed more drained than at any other point in the last three days. And he wasn’t wearing his own clothes. Snow recognized the pallor immediately, and her chest tightened.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly and worriedly.

Bigby nearly snorted. “He didn’t exactly make it easy.”

“What happened?”

“Had a nice, uh…chat with our old friend Mary.”

The blood drained from Snow’s face. She searched him quickly, her eyes catching on the burning silver wounds on his right hand. “Are you alright?” she asked again.

“No,” he finally admitted with a heavy sigh. “But I will be once this is over.”

Snow didn’t know why that made her feel even more worried, but she nodded slowly. She chewed her cheek as Bigby pushed the Crooked Man into the center of the crowd. She cleared her throat and spoke again. “You did well, Sheriff. I’m…surprised.” Her eyes flashed. “Not that you did well!” she added so swiftly that Bigby offered a rare, exhausted smile. “But that…you know, that you…I’m just glad you made it back in one piece.”

Bigby’s smile didn’t fall for a long moment. Relief weighed him down. He didn’t realize until that moment that a part of him had feared he wouldn’t see her again. Something about her stammering—such an uncommon occurrence—made his chest tight.

He didn’t have long to enjoy the feeling before Gren spat again. “It’s about time you showed up,” he grumbled. “Now throw this fucker down the well.”

“Yes!” Bluebeard nodded in agreement. “What are you waiting for?”

Suddenly, everyone was talking at once. They shouted over each other’s voices to hurl insults and accusations. The only one who managed to hold her tongue was Greenleaf; even Beauty was shouting angrily beside her husband. Bigby crossed his arms, watching as the Crooked Man’s eyes widened a fraction. The shouting made the sheriff’s head throb even more, but the pain was worth it to see the Crooked Man’s confident demeanor finally falter.

“Everyone! Can I have your attention, please?” Snow called, silencing them with her firm, authoritative tone. “Thank you all for coming here on such short notice. I know normally we’d schedule a formal hearing but considering the circumstances…I thought it best if we do this as soon as possible.” Snow stood next to Bigby and produced a piece of paper. “The Crooked Man is charged with the following indictments: The murders of Faith and Li—”

“As I’ve already informed your sheriff,” the Crooked Man cut her off swiftly, “it was Mr. Georgie Porgie who killed those women. Not me.”

“ _What_?!” Beauty gasped loudly. “ _Georgie_?!”

“Georgie?” Snow repeated, too, glancing at Bigby.

Before he could give her confirmation, the Crooked Man continued. “I don’t mean to interrupt you, Miss White, but I thought it would be unwise to proceed with such…faulty information.”

“Georgie may have killed them,” Bigby returned bitterly, “but you made the call.”

The Crooked Man gave a weary sigh. “Must I really explain this to you all over?”

“Wait a minute,” Holly demanded, silencing the room. “You’re tellin’ me Georgie’s the motherfucker who killed my sister?” Her eyes tightened as Gren looked at her. Holly glanced at the sheriff furiously. “Well, where the fuck is he?”

“Yeah,” Gren nodded, “you’re bringin’ that shithead in, too, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Sheriff,” the Crooked Man mused. “Where _is_ the rotten scoundrel now?”

“He’s dead,” Bigby said, looking at Snow. “I—”

“He’s _what_?” she breathed with wide eyes.

The look weakened him. “Snow, I didn’t—”

“ _Dead_?!” Beauty exclaimed, cutting him off. “Oh my God, Bigby!”

“Snow, it—”

“So you see,” the Crooked Man interjected, “the culprit has been punished. There’s no need for this to—”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Snow said firmly, glaring at him.

“Doesn’t it, Miss White? It sounds to me as if—”

“Wait a minute!” Bufkin shouted breathlessly, soaring into the room over everyone.

“What is it, Bufkin?” Snow asked.

The flying monkey landed on the stone table beside Bigby and Snow. “I did what you asked me to, Miss White! I kept an eye on Mr. Bigby while he was away. When he entered the Crooked Man’s door, he disappeared for a while, as you saw, but _I_ kept watching! When he reappeared…” Bufkin frowned. “Well, it’s actually quite a long story, but the _point_ is, he tracked down Mr. Georgie and got his confession before the man died!”

“Before Bigby killed him, you mean,” Bluebeard corrected with a smirk. “Not that I disapprove, mind you. Quite the contrary, I’m glad to see you’re back in action, Sheriff.”

“I’m _not_ ,” Bigby growled.

“Mr. Georgie was already dying!” Bufkin said quickly, his tail flicking happily. “He’d been wounded before they reentered the city! And—and he _asked_ Bigby to put him out of his—see, he was suffering, and, well, Bigby didn’t _want_ to—”

“That’s enough, Bufkin,” Bigby interrupted gruffly. “Thanks, but I can speak for myself. The point is, before Georgie died, he told me that this fucker ordered him to kill Faith and Lily. Georgie knew that if he didn’t, he’d be killed, too.”

Snow blinked, looking between Bufkin and Bigby. “We’ll…deal with this later,” she said before glaring at the Crooked Man. “Right now, _you’re_ the one on trial.”

“You called the shots,” Bigby said. “Georgie made that perfectly clear.”

“In which case, you still have a lot to answer for,” Snow said firmly, raising her paper again. “And I’d—”

“I was told I would be allowed to speak,” the Crooked Man responded curtly.

“We have to read the rest of the charges before—”

“ _What_ other charges?”

“If you’d stop interrupting me, I could _give_ them.”

“I’m well aware of my rights, Miss White, and I demand the right to speak for—”

“Let her finish,” Bigby growled. “Then you can have your say. That’s how this works.”

“Got it?” Snow said with another glare.

“If you insist,” the Crooked Man replied through his teeth.

Snow gave Bigby a brief but warm glance as she returned to her paper. “You are charged with the following indictments: The murder of Faith and Lily…which Georgie carried out on your order; inciting violence against various members of the Fabletown community, including the attempted murder of Sheriff Bigby Wolf—”

“Twice,” Bigby muttered.

“A misunderstanding,” the Crooked Man sighed.

“— _aiding_ ,” Snow continued sharply, “and providing monetary support for the forced prostitution of the girls at the Pudding and Pie. Additionally, you are charged with multiple counts of fraud, extortion, racketeering, and the illegal possession and sale of magical artifacts.”

Bigby nodded. “As well as resisting arrest and kidnapping Crane at gunpoint.”

“He went _willingly_ ,” the Crooked Man replied.

“Yes,” Snow said, gesturing to the sheriff. “Thank you. Now, is there anything you would like to say in your defense?”

The Crooked Man cleared his throat. “First of all, I had nothing to do with Faith and Lily, so you can strike _that_ one from you little piece of paper, dear.”

“Don’t be a fucking prick,” Bigby ordered.

“Bullshit!” Gren shouted at the same time. “Like fuckin’ hell you didn’t!”

Suddenly the room erupted again into a myriad of shouts. The cacophony of voices raised to a deafening height until every word was a garbled mess.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Bigby ordered, forcing his voice to be louder than the others’. His tone echoed through the wide room, and everyone fell silent, grumbling under their breaths. Bigby glared at the Crooked Man with crossed arms. “You wanted a chance to talk? Fucking get on with it.”

“We all know he’s guilty!” Gren exclaimed incredulously. “What’s the fuckin’ point of all this?”

Snow stepped to the center of the crowd close to the prisoner. Bigby watched him closely, tensed in case he tried something. “The Crooked Man has committed crimes against this government and, most importantly, its citizens. These charges, if proven, are enough to justify _death_ , upon which his body will be committed to the Witching Well—”

“Where it fuckin’ belongs!” Gren snapped.

“But we promised you the chance to defend yourself!” Snow called over another uproar. “And I won’t rob you, or anyone else, of that right.”

The room erupted once more, disbelieving protests and curses echoing like a waterfall in the acoustic room. The Crooked Man’s lips curled a little, as if amused, and he gave the sheriff an arrogant look.

“This is about _justice_!” Snow said loudly and clearly over everyone’s voices, forcing them silent once again. “If we’re _ever_ going to pull ourselves together and make something of this town, we _have_ to start doing this correctly. No more pitchforks. No more street justice. No more snap judgments. We hear the facts, and then we all decide _together_ what the punishment should be. We are going to treat everyone fairly, even when they don’t deserve it. That’s the only thing that separates our society from his gang of ruffians.”

“Thank you, my dear,” the Crooked Man said cordially. “ _Well_ said.”

“Shut up,” she replied reflexively. She cleared her throat and tried again. “This isn’t a favor. It’s your right as a citizen of Fabletown.”

“I understand perfectly, dear. Sheriff, would you mind loosening these cuffs?”

“You can talk just fine with them on,” Bigby muttered dryly.

The Crooked Man grimaced at him. “Very well.”

“You have the floor,” Snow announced, coming to stand beside Bigby again. She crossed her arms. They exchanged a quick look as Bufkin slid a little closer to the sheriff.

“You’ve all met Georgie,” the Crooked Man began, slowly walking in a circle. He made eye contact with everyone, his expression calm and collected. “I don’t have to tell you what kind of a… _person_ he was. He was a total scoundrel, lacking any sort of moral fiber. I hired him as a favor to his family. You see, a promise kept to a dying mother that—”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Gren muttered.

Holly gave an annoyed grimace. “Are you gonna fuckin’ get to your point or what?”

The Crooked Man gave them each a fleeting glance before he continued in a tighter voice. “Georgie was working for me, yes, but he was not acting on my behalf when he killed those women. It was his business, and for whatever reason I’m sure only he could understand, he murdered two of his most faithful employees. I had nothing to do with it whatso—” The room broke into another uproar, forcing the Crooked Man to shout over them. “Georgie’s always been a bit of a powder keg! It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.”

“The only problem with your claim,” Bigby said through his teeth, “is that I _talked_ to Georgie. He was dying; he had no reason to lie. He _wasn’t_ lying. Georgie was convinced he didn’t have a say in the matter. Either he dealt with them, or you dealt with him, so don’t give us this—”

“An extreme exaggeration if I’ve ever heard one. He _clearly_ misunderstood my intention.”

“Then what _was_ your intention?”

The Crooked Man looked at him blankly. “My intention,” he said slowly, “was to have him _speak_ with those women.”

“Really,” Holly muttered in a flat tone.

“I would _never_ authorize such a barbaric act as _murder_.”

“Any of you actually believe this bullshit?”

“Holly, please,” Snow sighed tiredly.

“Tell them, Bigby,” the Crooked Man said. “When you finally showed up at my door last night, wasn’t I more than helpful? I answered your questions; I gave you Georgie. I was willing to cooperate.”

“Are you fuckin’—that wasn’t _helpful_. It was a fucking setup. Your people tried to kill me!”

“They get a bit carried away sometimes,” the Crooked Man allowed. “It’s true. Loyal to a fault. They do it because they want to protect me, as I have protected them.” The Crooked Man smirked at Bigby before glancing briefly at Snow beside him. “You understand something about protecting what you care about, don’t you? I’ve heard a great deal about the lengths to which you’ve gone, Sheriff, to protect those you’re close to. You’d do _anything_. You might even give up an innocent man.”

Bigby clenched his jaw, rendered speechless for a moment as he glared at the Crooked Man. Snow glanced up at the sheriff, crossing her arms tighter. “Your men,” Bigby began slowly, “don’t protect you because they want to. You _intimidate_ people. You use scare tactics. They’re afraid that if they don’t follow your orders, they’ll end up dead. That’s how your kind of operation works.”

“Let me explain this to you. My employees are just that: hired help.” He glanced around slowly, his eyes falling pointedly on Beauty and Beast. “I see some of them among you here. They are _not_ my slaves. They are all free to make their own decisions, as Georgie was.”

“You harassed us for repayment!” Beast shouted. “Threatening calls every day for _weeks_!”

“And what about Lily?” Holly yelled. “She wasn’t free! She wasn’t given a choice! She went to you for help, and you collared her! Do you really think she wanted…that _any_ of those girls wanted their lives like that?!”

“I’m sorry, Holly,” the Crooked Man replied genuinely. “I’m sorry that your sister was forced to ask me for help, and I’m sorry that I decided, against my better judgment, to give her a distasteful job in a distasteful place.”

“Right,” Snow scoffed, “but you also kept them in debt so they couldn’t leave.”

“Yeah!” Beast shouted. “That’s what you did to us! That’s how you kept us in line so we wouldn’t—”

“You forget,” the Crooked Man interrupted, “it wasn’t _me_ who put you in that position. You all act like I’m some kind of tyrant! When your government abandoned you, left you poor and helpless, sniveling on street corners, _I_ was the one who looked out for you.” Snow looked so hurt that Bigby’s glare hardened. “ _I_ was the one who gave you a loan. I clothed your children, put food on your tables, gave you work when no one else would return your calls.”

Beast faltered. “Well…yes, but…”

“Wasn’t I?” the Crooked Man pressed softly.

Bigby snapped. “ _Crane_ was the one who let this town go to the fuckin’ dogs. The guy who was in your fucking pocket, remember? You _told_ him to refuse these people so they’d have nowhere else to turn to but you for help.”

Several people gasped. “That’s right!” Beauty whispered. “That’s—that makes sense! Yes!”

“Really?” the Crooked Man wondered. He turned to someone in the crowd whose eyes were glued to the floor. “And what about Auntie Greenleaf? Her story is not so uncommon. She left _everything_ she had back in the Homelands…everything that mattered, anyway. With nowhere else to turn, she came to me for help.” Greenleaf’s stoic expression weakened, and she crossed her arms. “And what did I do for you?”

“You…got my tree back,” she answered softly.

“I got her tree back,” he repeated, turning to the others again. “And in turn, we used her magic to help poor Fables get glamours who otherwise never could have afforded them. Because I helped her, she was able to make a living and provide for not only herself but countless other Fables. And what did _they_ do?” he asked, looking back at her.

Greenleaf glared furiously at Snow. “ _She_ wanted to burn my tree! But…” Her expression faltered when she saw the sheriff. “But Bigby refused.”

“Wait, what?!” Beauty gasped.

“You were gonna _burn_ her tree?!” Beast demanded. “Snow, _why_ would you want that?!”

Bigby couldn’t handle the look of shame on her face. “Everyone just calm the fuck down,” he ordered over a myriad of complaints. “Greenleaf was using her magic to help Crane and the Crooked Man. That’s why Snow wanted the tree destroyed, so it wouldn’t be used to hurt this town anymore.”

“That’s not why,” Greenleaf laughed bitterly. She marched up to Snow, who struggled to meet her eyes. “You can lie to yourself, you can lie to him, but you can’t lie to me! You _hated_ Crane! And you hated him for wanting to _fuck_ you and you being too _soft_ to notice what he’d do to get it!”

Snow’s eyes widened at the bluntness of the statement, and Bigby stepped between them, glaring at Greenleaf. “That’s enough,” he said lowly through his teeth.

“Loyalty,” the Crooked Man hummed.

“Her petty motivations had nothing to do with the Crooked Man or the work I did for him,” Greenleaf continued, returning to her spot in the crowd. “It was about revenge. Plain and simple.”

Snow turned and walked away several steps. Bigby watched her. They all did. She wrung her hands and looked down. “We’ve made some mistakes… _I’ve_ made some mistakes.” She turned back slowly. “But believe me, I truly want what’s _best_ for this town.” Bigby moved across the room to stand at her side. Bufkin followed him over quickly, his tail flicking as he watched Snow sympathetically. “That…may not always be clear right away,” Snow murmured, “but I want you to know that I care _deeply_ about all of you. And so does the sheriff.”

“Yeah right,” Gren snorted.

“I can’t promise you perfection,” Snow continued. “No one can, but I _can_ promise to _always_ have your best interests at heart.”

“Things…” Bigby sighed heavily, looking around at the others. “Things haven’t been great for a while now, and we know that. We know we have to be better. We’ve messed up, and Fables have suffered for our negligence…for _my_ negligence. But we’re trying to make up for that now. We want to protect you from people like him.”

“The Crooked Man’s been exploiting you,” Snow murmured. “Exploiting your hope for a better life. You would go to him for _help_ , and he would take that desperation and add it to his strength. And if things didn’t fall exactly his way, someone would die.”

“He never cared about you—about any of you. He only cared about your money and your obedience.”

Everyone looked down. The Crooked Man’s gaze darted around warily, sensing the shift. Beast stepped forward once, hesitated, and then marched to Bigby’s side.

“They’re right,” he said quietly.

“You’re all still afraid of him,” Snow continued. “Even now, but you needn’t be. His contamination of this town is _over_. And those girls _will_ have their justice.”

Holly, with her arms crossed, came to stand beside Snow. Gren followed her, glaring at the Crooked Man. Jack gave Bigby a weak smile and moved next to Beast. Beauty followed her husband and took his hand.

One by one, they all moved away from the Crooked Man to stand with the sheriff and deputy mayor. Finally, Greenleaf stood alone on the other side of the room. She glanced up at the Crooked Man, guilt burning in her eyes, and then, with her head bowed, moved to join the others.

For a long moment, the Crooked Man simply stared at the others. Then, he slowly raised his shackled hands and clapped quietly. “Very good. _Very_ good. The sentiment is surely appreciated, Miss White, but it doesn’t disguise the fact that these accusations are completely unfounded. The sheriff simply doesn’t have a particle of evidence linking me to the murders, and that—”

“Georgie was working for you!” Snow exclaimed. “Bigby got a confession that—”

“A confession that nobody heard. Nobody but him and that flying creature who is paid for his loyalty.”

“Hey!” Bufkin complained.

“Now, I’m no barrister, but I’d think that such a statement would carry more weight if Bigby wasn’t the only one to whom Georgie spoke. _Especially_ considering Bigby’s…history.”

The sheriff’s expression darkened.

“And what about _your_ history?” Snow demanded heatedly, stepping in front of Bigby. “What about everything you’ve done to this town?”

“Wait, what does he mean there’s no evidence?” Beast demanded. “You—you _do_ have evidence, right?”

“Maybe…” Beauty gave the sheriff an anxious look and glanced at the Crooked Man. “Maybe he’s…I mean, this doesn’t feel right, how we’re doing this.”

Snow turned to her in disbelief. “Bigby wouldn’t _lie_ about something like this! And neither would Bufkin, for that matter!”

“I saw the whole thing!” the flying monkey nodded urgently. “I was using the Magic Mirror when he got the confession! He isn’t lying!”

“This man tormented all of you!” Bluebeard scoffed, glaring at Beauty. “For _profit_! Georgie killed—”

“Let me make sure I understand you,” the Crooked Man interrupted swiftly. “You’re trying to say that I am responsible for what Georgie did, because he was working for me at the time, yes? Well, by the same token, shouldn’t Miss White be held accountable for Mr. Wolf’s actions as well?”

“Like what?” Snow challenged haughtily.

“How about the way he treated poor Tweedle Dee while he was in your custody? He was beaten to mashed apples while under your watch.”

“That was Bluebeard!” Snow and Bigby said simultaneously.

“He was a _murder_ suspect,” Bluebeard shrugged. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“Besides,” Snow snapped, “ _Crane_ was still Deputy Mayor when that happened. Right before you decided to kidnap him and try to kill Bigby.”

“Taking Crane was for his own protection,” the Crooked Man replied. “But you’re right, dear. Crane was in charge. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

Bigby’s glare hardened. “You fucking—”

“That’s enough,” Snow said coldly, her expression murderous.

“So,” the Crooked Man hummed, “you won’t answer for your employee’s behavior, but I must perish for mine?”

“This is completely different. I have nothing to answer for. I’m not the one on trial here. Bigby didn’t _murder_ two women at my command.”

“I did not order those two girls dead,” the Crooked Man snapped bitterly. “It simply never happened. _Georgie_ killed Faith and Lily of his own volition! End of story! These people want to scapegoat me for their own tangled ends, but they refuse to answer for their own crimes!”

“ _What_ crimes?” Snow demanded, exasperated. “The only example you’ve provided was something Bluebeard openly admits to being responsible for!”

The room erupted into chaos again as everyone shouted at each other.

“Stop!” Bigby shouted. “Everyone _calm_ the _fuck_ down! This isn’t why we’re here. We’re here to—”

No one was listening to him. They were too busy hurling accusations at each other.

It was a long moment before the Crooked Man spoke again. When he did, the crowd fell silent. “This is precisely what I’m talking about,” he sighed. “We lashed our ropes to this diseased world, and ever since, which one of us has been there for you? Who filled your lives with the promise of more? Who was there while _they_ idly played in their ivory towers, judging you, treating you as mindless children too stupid to command your own destinies? Without me…who will pay your rent when you are on the verge of eviction? Who will dare challenge their brutality when it leaks on to our dear citizens?” he wondered, glaring coldly at Bigby. “Who will protect you from the Big Bad Wolf?”

“I’ve heard just about enough of this,” Snow snapped, putting herself between them again. “How _dare_ you—”

“Bigby!” someone called breathlessly, running down the corridor. “Miss White!”

“Nerissa?” the sheriff replied as she came to a stop beside him. “Are you alright?”

“Excuse me, dear,” the Crooked Man said dismissively. “We’re in the middle of—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bigby ordered, turning to the girl. “What is it, Nerissa?”

She looked up at him nervously, her amber eyes wide.

“It’s okay,” he assured her.

“I…I wanted to make sure I had the chance to say something,” she panted, glancing away. Her sad eyes found the sheriff’s again before she looked at the prisoner.

“Why don’t you take a moment to catch your breath, little one?” the Crooked Man suggested in a strained tone.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Bigby barked. “Nerissa, go ahead.”

She edged closed to the sheriff, wringing her hands. “I’d like to…I-I need to say something.”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something.”

“ _Bluebeard_ ,” Snow bit back.

“Everyone shut the fuck up,” Bigby called when a low murmur began. “Go on, Nerissa,” he added in a gentler tone.

The girl looked up slowly at the Crooked Man. “You probably don’t remember me,” she began slowly. A slow smile spread, and she shook her head. “You know…I don’t know why I was… _afraid_ to come here.”

“My dear, I think you should—”

“Just shut up!” Nerissa shouted, surprising the sheriff. He gave a small smile, crossing his arms. Nerissa moved closer to the Crooked Man, her eyes angry. He fell back a step uncertainly. “You _enslaved_ us for years! Let us hear stories about what you’d do—told us we would lose _everything_ if we stepped just one _toe_ out of line! And we couldn’t say a word about it because of these damn ribbons!”

The Crooked Man’s eyes widened and fell to the ribbon on her neck. “Wait…”

“But you know what?” Nerissa smiled. “Now it’s my turn to talk.”

“How are you…”

“I found Vivian’s body.”

The blood drained from the Crooked Man’s face. 

“Did you kill her?!” she demanded heatedly. She looked at Bigby when the other man didn’t reply. “Did he?”

The sheriff looked down. “No. She…killed herself. To free you all from the ribbons.”

Nerissa’s eyes grew sad again.

The Crooked Man swallowed. “I’m…I’m sorry, um…I don’t think I know your name—”

“ _Nerissa_!” she shrieked. “My name is _Nerissa_!”

“It’s _okay_ , my dear. Calm yourself. It’s going to be just—”

“He ordered them dead!” the girl said loudly. The room fell eerily silent. “This _fucker_. Faith and Lily—”

The Crooked Man's eyes flew wide. “That’s a lie!”

“I was in the _goddamned room_ when it did it! Faith and Lily are dead because of you! The only two people who ever gave a _damn_ about me! And now I can finally say…” She looked up at him bitterly. “You’re an asshole. And I hope you rot at the bottom of the Witching Well for what you did.” She turned to the others. “He _made_ Georgie do it. It was always him! Georgie would’ve _never_ done anything without his say-so. _Ever_!”

The Crooked Man scoffed, but the sound was nervous. “Are you really going to take the word of this stupid little—”

“At least five other girls will back me up on this,” Nerissa announced. “We _all_ heard you say it!”

The Crooked Man finally lost his composure. His expression twisted heinously as he gave the girl a murderous look. “Did you now,” he growled menacingly.

“Looks like we found our evidence,” Bigby said, moving to stand beside Nerissa. “Good enough for me.”

“Me too,” Snow nodded.

“Throw him down the Witching Well!” Johann cried.

“Naw, that’s too fuckin’ easy for a crook like that,” Gren muttered. “He’s gotta _pay_ for what he did.”

The Crooked Man shook his head disdainfully. “You’re all _rats_ ,” he spat, “fleeing from one sinking ship to another. So quick to latch onto whatever will keep your miserable lives afloat. _This_ is how you want to repay me for all I’ve done for you?!”

“What, you take two people’s lives away, ‘n you expect mercy?” Gren scoffed.

“You know we can’t let you go free after this,” Snow added icily.

“What the fuck did you expect to happen here?” Bigby muttered, stepping closer to the Crooked Man. “This is exactly what you deserve.”

“Well done then,” the Crooked Man said through his teeth.

“Now,” Snow said. “For your sentencing—”

“We don’t have to become murderers!” Greenleaf suddenly exclaimed.

Bluebeard scoffed. “What are you talking about?”

“He’s guilty! I know that, but we don’t have to kill anybody. We can _imprison_ him. Lock him up forever somewhere he can never hurt anyone ever again.”

“How can we be sure he won’t escape?” Snow wondered.

“I can help! With magic, I assure you—”

“That’s not good enough!” Bluebeard snarled as the room exploded again.

Everyone started arguing over each other. People called for execution, for the Witching Well, for imprisonment, one voice overtaking another until it was nearing pandemonium.

“Everyone!” Snow shouted, calling them to order briskly. “Listen up! _Clearly_ , we’re having trouble agreeing on a suitable punishment. I think we should have a—”

“This is going nowhere!” Bluebeard snarled. “Throw him down the goddamn—”

“ _Someone_ needs to make a decision!”

“I hope you aren’t suggesting yourself,” he replied tightly.

“We should have a vote,” Bigby stated. “Like Snow said in the beginning. We’ll decide together.”

“Yes,” Snow nodded in agreement. “Thank you, Bigby. If everyone could just—”

Beauty sighed. “No one can agree on anything! How will we—”

“Well, what about Bigby?” Nerissa asked softly.

The room fell silent for a long moment as everyone looked at her.

“What _about_ Bigby?” Bluebeard demanded.

“He was appointed,” Nerissa answered. “He’s…the only official representative we have, really. He should be the judge.”

“Makes sense to me,” Johann nodded.

“Guess it does,” Holly agreed.

Gren sighed. “Okay.”

“Always knew you had it in you, Wolfie,” Jack said lightly, earning the sheriff’s scowl.

“Fine,” Greenleaf muttered in agreement.

Snow looked at Bigby. “Mr. Wolf,” she murmured formally. “It’s your call.”

“Snow, I—”

“Just…” She gave him a soft look. “Do what you think is right.”

“No!” the Crooked Man shouted. “Not this way!” Before anyone could react, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver knife, and threw his cuffed hands around Bigby’s throat. He pressed the blade to the sheriff’s neck and gripped him tightly.

“Bigby!” Snow exclaimed, reaching out to him as everyone gasped. Nerissa cried out as she rushed to Snow’s side, and Bufkin shouted the sheriff’s name.

The silver blade burned like fire against his neck. Bigby gasped for air, trying to loosen the chain pressing tightly into his jugular. The Crooked Man backed him up quickly and jerked his one of his wrists down further to choke the sheriff. He pressed the dagger into Bigby’s skin firmly, drawing a pearl of blood that slipped down the sheriff’s sizzling skin.

“If I go,” the Crooked Man seethed, “he’s coming with me.”

“Let him go!” Snow ordered shrilly, following their progress with raised hands. “Just—stop! You’re only making this worse for yourself! Release him! _Now_!”

“Not another step, Miss White! For those of you who can’t see, this knife I have is made of _silver_. I can hear it cooking the wolf’s neck as we speak. Step _back_ , or I’ll give him a wound he can’t hope to recover from.”

“ _No_!” Snow exclaimed. “Just—stop!”

Bigby reached up again and tried to wrestle himself free. The Crooked Man pressed the knife in tighter. A white-hot pain jolted through the sheriff, and blood ran down his neck faster, far too close to his artery. The Crooked Man backed up until he hit the edge of the Witching Well. Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow. He saw Snow and her terrified ocean eyes, and for a brief moment, he was frozen.

Instinct took over swiftly. The sheriff reached up and gripped the edge of the knife with one hand. The blade sunk into his fingers, but he ignored the burning pain as he grabbed the chain with his other hand. He yanked the Crooked Man’s wrists forward and then dropped, freeing himself of the shackles. He received a burning slice across his fingers and palm that scorched with agony, but he ignored it again. He whirled around swiftly to grab the knife. The Crooked Man tried to slash at him with both hands clutching the dagger. Bigby managed to dodge several desperate swings, but he missed the final one. The blade sunk deep into his side under his ribs. He heard Snow shriek as he cried out. Agonizing pain and scalding fire blinding him. He fell forward a step, and Beauty screamed. The room erupted into chaos once more, several people shouting unintelligibly, Snow’s voice above them all. The Crooked Man forced the knife in deeper, and Bigby felt it pierce his lung. He wheezed out and gripped the Crooked Man’s arm as his knees gave out. Snow screamed again. Bigby’s eyes flashed yellow as blood dripped from his lips, but he was too weak to meet the first threshold. The Crooked Man tried to take a step back from the sheriff, but he hit the edge of the Witching Well, and then they were both falling.

“ _Bigby_!” Snow screamed.

The sheriff’s hand slipped off the edge before he could grab it. He thought he was gone, but someone suddenly caught his wrist. The knife protruded from his ribs, making it difficult—impossible, even—for him to grip the hand back. He looked up blearily to see Snow holding him desperately, but she was struggling under the weight.

“ _Help_!” she screamed breathlessly, her waist flat against the side. She tried to lift the sheriff unsuccessfully.

“I got you, Snow!” Jack exclaimed. Her grabbed waist and anchored her to the room, but he wasn’t strong enough to pull them both back up.

“Bigby!” Nerissa shrieked. She reached into the well, struggling to reach for the sheriff.

“Bigby,” Snow cried again. “Bigby, give me your other hand! _Please_! I can’t—you're slipping, Bigby, _please_!”

He tried to do what she asked, but the silver inside him burned like fire, and he couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Oh God, please _help me_!” Snow sobbed. “He’s slipping!”

“I’ve got him, Snow!” Beast shouted. He appeared on her other side and grabbed the sheriff’s arm more firmly. He grunted and pulled Bigby up slowly.

Snow grabbed his shoulders when he was high enough, and then she pulled him over to her. They crashed on the floor, and Bigby cried out in agony when the dagger dug deeper. He coughed up another mouthful of blood, his fingers shaking violently as he tried to pull it out.

“Bigby!” Nerissa and Bufkin exclaimed simultaneously, landing on his other side.

Snow rolled the sheriff over swiftly and yanked the knife out. The sheriff grunted again through his teeth. “Bufkin!” Snow cried. “Call Dr. Swineheart! _Hurry_! It’s gonna be okay, Bigby! Oh God—Bigby, are you—can you hear me?”

“Are you okay?!” Nerissa shrieked.

“Never…better,” Bigby grunted hoarsely. “Thanks…Beast.”

“A-anytime, Bigby.”

“Shit…”

Holly crossed her arms and glanced at the well where the Crooked Man had fallen. “Well,” she muttered unhappily. “Guess that’s that then.”

Bigby’s vision swam.

“Oh God, Bigby,” Snow cried, pressing her hands over his bleeding wound. “I-it’s gonna be alright! Try to stay awake! No, don't talk! Just try to breathe normally. Oh God—”

The sheriff tried again to say something. He tried to fight the wave that threatened to pull him under. He heard Snow call his name one final time, and then his world turned black.


	31. Chapter 31

_Two Days Later_

Bigby was leaning against the elevator wall. He ran a hand down his face, crossed his arms, and watched the elevator’s arrow slowly rise. When the elevator doors opened, he nearly ran into Flycatcher. 

“Hey,” the other man greeted coolly. “You comin’ down to see the truck off? We’ll be heading to the Farm soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right down,” Bigby replied quietly.

He made his way down the hallway to see a long line outside the Business Office. Gren, Hans, Johann, and Jack were just a few of the many. Jack glanced up from his position on the floor and gave a nod with mock-solemnity. Bigby nodded back. He was reaching for the handle when the door suddenly burst open. The sheriff barely managed to step back in time.

“Oh!” Snow gasped apologetically. Her arms were full of several thick files and loose papers. “Sorry!”

Bigby gave her a small smile as she swept a lock of hair from her eyes with her pen.

“Uh, Mr. Wolf,” she continued in a distant, professional tone. She pulled a set of keys up from her files with the end of her pen and held them out. “Flycatcher left those. Would you give them to him?” 

The sheriff’s smile faded when she didn’t even look at him. “Oh—uh, yeah. ‘Course, Snow,” he answered quietly. He accepted the keys and turned around again.

Bufkin popped his head out. “Miss White, a call for you,” he announced swiftly. “They wanna talk to Bigby, too.”

Snow offered a sigh. “Crap. Sheriff, would you mind?” Snow asked curtly, gesturing to her office as she scanned a file in her arm.

“Yeah,” Bigby nodded again quietly as he followed her in.

The door closed behind him, and Bufkin snickered. “Did I do it right, Miss White?”

“Yes,” Snow murmured, setting her files down on the table near the door. “Now go away. Please.”

Bufkin laughed again and soared out of sight.

Bigby frowned. “What’s—”

Snow didn’t let him finish. She lifted herself a little and pulled the sheriff down the rest of the way to. Her lips met his fervently, and he was so taken off-guard that it took a brief second before he melted into her. His hand rose to her cheek as his other fingers got lost in her hair.

“I only have a second,” she murmured, kissing him again, “but you just looked so crestfallen, and I’d already asked Bufkin to—” She interrupted herself with another heated kiss. “—to say something like that if—you showed up.” She pressed her lips to his, and he chuckled softly at her reluctance to part from him. “Didn’t want the crowd…getting annoyed with…” She gave up on speech, pulling him to her more urgently.

Bigby smiled against her, his thumb arcing across her cheek. He met her kiss ardently, bowing into her. His fingers lowered to her back as she arched into him. She consumed his mind again with jasmine and vanilla until he forgot where they were. His breath rushed out of him as his fingers tightened and curled against her. Snow ran her own fingers through his hair, her lips moving furiously with his for a long, heated moment. Bigby’s arm laced around her waist as his thumb brushed against her cheek again. Snow smiled once more. She kissed him for another moment before she reluctantly pulled back.

“Should’ve known that was a dangerous idea,” she chuckled, the color high in her cheeks. She pressed her forehead to his and grinned. “How’s your side? Any better?”

Bigby nodded breathlessly, his eyes still closed. His heart was pounding in his chest as the corners of his lips tugged into a small smile.

Snow sighed at it softly. She pulled him back to her hungrily. Her fingers tightened on his jaw, and she threw her other arm around his neck. He bent into her as her fingers carded through his hair again. He panted against her, resisting the urge to pull her as close as possible. He heard her heart beating just as fast, and he smiled softly into the kiss.

The phone rang shrilly inside the office, and Snow groaned at it irritably. Bufkin picked it up and called out for her, letting the receiver rest on the desk. Snow kissed Bigby a moment longer then stepped back. She stared at him with wide pupils before she blushed and turned to the office. She only made it a couple steps before he pulled her back gently, and she melted into his kiss again. His thumb arced over her skin one last them, and then he let her go.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, walking backwards to get the phone. Her eyes were excited as she grinned. “Things are _finally_ getting back on track! We’re finally—Hello, Business Office, this is Snow White.”

Bigby gave her a fond smile. He held Flycatcher’s keys up and motioned to the door.

Snow grinned and nodded in response. She gave him a considerably endearing wave as she continued talking.

Bigby watched her for a moment. She turned to the desk, and he smiled when her finger began twisting through the phone cord absently. He gave a soft sigh and turned around. He fixed his tie a little and forced his smile to fade. He cleared his throat, and then he swiftly opened the door and passed the others in the hallway.

The sheriff reached the elevator at the same time as someone else. He sighed. “Someone’s gonna see you, Colin,” he complained quietly.

“Hey, Snow said I could stay,” the pig shrugged, talking around a pack of beer.

“Yeah, long as no one _sees_ you.”

Colin winked and entered the elevator with the sheriff. Bigby sighed heavily and pressed the buttons for their apartment and the lobby. Colin smiled at him when the doors opened again, and he headed down the hall as Bigby shook his head once more. 

When he got to the street, he saw Toad and TJ sitting in the back of Flycatcher’s truck. He approached them quietly and tossed the driver his keys.

“Oh!” Flycatcher gasped. “Thank you! It’s, uh…been pretty busy around here.”

“Mornin’, Sheriff,” Toad muttered. “Nice feckin’ day.”

“I’m sorry, Toad.”

“Fuck off, Sheriff. I mean that. Fuck. Off.”

Bigby looked down and turned around. He only made it a few steps before TJ stopped him. “Wait! Sheriff Bigby, I have something…”

Toad glared at Bigby while TJ dug in his bag. “Y’know, poor kid was up cryin’ all night long.”

Bigby shook his head slowly and looked away, but he chose not to comment.

“Can you give this to Miss White?” TJ asked softly, holding up a small box. “Please…Dad says there’s no time to say goodbye, so…if you could bring it to her…she was nice…”

“Yeah,” Bigby said quietly, accepting the box. “Sure, kid.”

“I…couldn’t take them all with me, and she said she liked that one best. You…you can peek if you want…”

Bigby opened the box to see a little iridescent blue beetle pinned to a cushion. A child’s hand had scrawled _To Miss White, From TJ_ on the inside of the lid.

“It’s a Willow Beetle,” the boy explained.

“It’s…I’m sure she’ll love it.”

“She said it was pretty…”

Bigby closed the box and pocketed it carefully. “I’ll give it to her first thing.”

“We’re about ready to head out,” Flycatcher called as he closed the truck’s hood. He walked around and got into the driver’s seat. “Just gotta check a few more things.”

“What’s it like at the Farm?” TJ wondered softly. “I’ve heard ogres live there, a-and they eat people in their sleep sometimes.”

“God, I ‘ope not,” Toad muttered grimly.

“Do we have to go?” TJ whimpered. “I wanna stay here!”

“Well, we don’t ‘ave that choice anymore,” his father snapped.

“Don’t worry, TJ,” the sheriff said. “You’ll be a lot safer there. There’s plenty of space to run around…and there’s a nice river nearby so you can swim all you want.”

“Even in daytime?” TJ sniffled, peeking up at him.

“Yeah. You don’t have to worry about mundies seeing you up there. It’ll be nice.”

TJ didn’t stop crying, but he nodded hopefully.

“C’mon,” the sheriff murmured. “It won’t be so bad.”

“Have you ever been there?”

Bigby glanced away. “Uh, no…I’m, uh…Some of the animals are, uh, comfortable around wolves, so—”

“Then you don’t feckin’ know,” Toad grumbled.

“We’re all set,” Flycatcher said through the back window as he started the engine.

“Bye, Mr. Wolf,” the boy waved sadly.

“Bye, TJ.”

“Hey, Bigby,” Toad muttered. “Where’s your friend Colin? Where’s the feckin’ pig?”

The sheriff didn’t reply as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

Toad glared at him and shook his head. The truck started moving forward just as the rain began pounding into the hot pavement. The resulting scent burned through Bigby’s nose, and he swiftly lit the cigarette. Bigby’s shirt soaked through immediately, molding to him like a second skin, but he didn’t look away from the truck until it disappeared around the corner. Just as he was about to turn back to the Woodlands, he saw Nerissa waiting across the street. She was standing under an umbrella with a duffel bag in her other hand. She looked different. Free from the spell, she’d donned a more comfortable outfit of jeans and a loose blue bomber jacket.

“Saying goodbye?” she called across the street with a sad smile.

Bigby glanced down the road and walked over to her. Rain dripped off the ends of his hair and dampened his cigarette. Nerissa smiled at him again and offered a corner of her umbrella.

“Hi,” he offered.

Nerissa looked down. “Hi.”

The sheriff’s eyes drifted to the purple ribbon tied beneath the collar of her jacket. “You’re still wearing it?”

“Oh…” She frowned, like she’d only just noticed. “Yeah…I guess I am.”

Bigby stepped back to the overhanging archway behind them. Nerissa followed him. She closed her umbrella and let her duffel bag drop to the dry piece of sidewalk.

“It’s not easy to forget,” she murmured. “I know it seems like I should be able to…it’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Bigby replied quietly, taking a long drag. “I get it.”

Nerissa gave him another sad smile and looked away. “Listen, I…I came here, because…I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about what happened to Faith and Lily.” She swallowed and looked down. “Not sure where to start…Faith, Lily, and I…we had this plan. We were gonna find a way out. Leave the Pudding ‘n Pie for good. But then Faith decided to get some…leverage. She stole a picture of Crane and Lily together.” Nerissa’s eyes grew far away as she stared into the rain. “The _minute_ Faith took that picture, we had dirt on one of the Crooked Man’s allies. If he ever found out…” She shook her head. A horrified expression overwhelmed her. She looked at Bigby desperately as her eyes flooded. “I-I had no choice! You have to understand! I didn’t know what would happen!”

Bigby’s eyebrows pulled together. A quiet feeling of dread swept through him at the look in her eye. “Nerissa, slow down. What happened? What did you do?”

“I-I freaked out, okay?” she murmured, folding her arms over herself. “I…I thought if I came clean to Georgie, he’d get the Crooked Man to leave us alone! We could just forget the whole thing, maybe try again in a few years…”

Bigby stared at her.

“I…I told him,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I told him _everything_. And I _begged_ for mercy, for all of us. I didn’t want anyone to _die_ over a picture! Georgie promised he’d smooth things over with the Crooked Man, but then…” Nerissa pressed a hand to her neck and started shaking. “Oh God—I never meant for…”

Bigby swallowed. He reached into his pocket and offered her a cigarette silently.

Nerissa glanced at it and accepted. She breathed in sharply through her nose. “Thank you,” she murmured softly.

The sheriff offered his lighter, and she cupped her fingers around the flame. Her hands shook, and she took a long drag, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.

“I don’t know what happened,” she cried quietly. “But that night…at the club…Georgie came back and told me things had changed. He had to make an _example_ of us…we had committed ‘treason.’” She started sobbing again. “And while the two of us were sitting there, as he was telling me this…Faith walked in, and—a-and he made me _watch_ as he…” She covered her eyes and cried into her hand.

Bigby froze. “Wait, you…Georgie told you all this? Not the Crooked Man? You said—”

“I know what I said.”

“You lied?”

“What does it matter? I _know_ the Crooked Man did it. Just as you do. So what if it wasn’t the whole truth? Georgie _never_ would’ve done that himself. He went to the Crooked Man with one resolve, and then he came back with another.”

“I…” Bigby looked away.

“I _know_ he ordered their deaths. I wasn’t gonna let him get away with it because of a stupid technicality. _Especially_ after—” Nerissa dropped her eyes. “That night…after Faith…I snuck out of the club...I tried to warn Lily, but she wasn’t at her scheduled appointment with the Woodsman. So…I did the only thing I could do. I…I left Faith’s head…at your doorstep.”

Bigby looked at her again. “You?”

“I walked over here,” Nerissa said shakily, “and I left her, just hoping that maybe…if I could get you to see…I could at least save the rest of us…I’d hoped…”

“That you’d get my attention,” the sheriff finished quietly. “So…you started all this.”

“I just…pointed you in the right direction. People like us get forgotten all the time. The Crooked Man was counting on that. When we suffer, we do it in silence. And the world likes it that way. We just…fade. Like we were never here at all. I couldn’t watch that happen to Faith…or to Lily.” Nerissa looked down. “Nobody cares about us. Not really.”

“That’s not true,” Bigby said softly.

“It is,” the girl murmured. “You’ve just never seen it before, but now you have…You’ll make things right, you and Snow.”

Bigby grimaced. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Seems like no matter what I do, it’s just…not enough. For anyone. I can’t win with these people.”

Nerissa glanced at him. “I know it might feel that way sometimes, but…they need you, Bigby. Both of you. You two make a good team.” She smiled sadly. “In a lot of ways. The way you two look out for each other. And for us. You don’t see that a lot these days.”

Bigby’s gaze drifted across the street. “I hope so. Things are…different now,” he murmured, struggling to keep his tone neutral.

Nerissa gave a soft chuckle, but it sounded sad. “Things are always different. Look, Bigby…After everything you’ve done for us…maybe they don’t want to admit it, but…without you, none of this would have happened. You _listened_ when no one else would. You knew when to show mercy, and you brought _justice_ to this town…finally. Because you brought the Crooked Man in, _everyone_ saw exactly who he really was. So, from where I’m standing, you did the right thing.”

“Thanks, Nerissa,” he mumbled quietly.

The girl opened her umbrella once more, picked up her duffel bag, and stepped back out into the rain. “You’ve been given this job for a reason,” she said seriously. “And I left Faith at your doorstep, because I knew, if anyone stood a chance against the Crooked Man, it was you.”

Bigby sighed. “I’ve…been making a lot of mistakes lately.”

“But you’ve also done a lot of good. Don’t forget that. You’ve _changed_ this place. Fabletown wouldn’t be the same without you.” Nerissa gave him a sad smile. She nodded at him formally and then walked past him. She only made it a few steps before she hesitated. As she glanced over her shoulder, a flicker of playfulness entered her eyes. Déjà vu swept over him when she smirked. “You know, Bigby…you’re not as bad as everyone says you are.”

Bigby’s eyes widened as she started walking again.

_“Hey…I need to tell you something…” She rose to her toes and pulled Bigby down a little so she could reach his ear. “You’re not as bad as everyone says you are,” she whispered softly._

_Nerissa gave him another sad smile and looked away. “Listen, I…I came here, because…I have to tell you something.”_

_Nerissa dropped her eyes. “That night…after Faith…I snuck out of the club...I tried to warn Lily, but she wasn’t at her scheduled appointment with the Woodsman.”_

_He felt another flicker of recognition—almost like déjà vu—but he didn’t know why._

_“You’re trying to place me,” the girl murmured with a knowing smile._

_The walls were lined with pictures from another time…Faith looked…happy. She was beaming, but what struck Bigby were her eyes. The sadness he’d read in her features last night was nowhere to be seen._

_Another showed Faith and Bigby talking in the alley that first night…He hadn’t noticed just how sad she really looked that night. The weight of her expression could only be matched by Nerissa’s. Looking at the photo of Faith with him and Faith with her friends, it was difficult to imagine they were the same person._

_The last one showed Faith yelling at a distraught Nerissa…Faith looked entirely different…Something about her emerald eyes—rage that bordered on betrayal—darkened her features until they were unrecognizable._

_As she took another drag, her shoulders drew in a little until she was standing almost like how an insecure adolescent might stand. She seemed to realize it and straightened her back._

_Nerissa sat down and let her purse fall to the floor beside her. Her shoulders slumped forward a little in the same way adolescents tended to sit._

_The girl tried to fight her smile as her expression softened. “It’s okay,” she assured him again. “I’ll be fine. You’ve done enough. Really. Keep your fifty-eight dollars, Sheriff.”_

_“It’s fine, Sheriff. Keep your eighty-eight dollars.” She gave him another faintly amused look and then stood up._

_The Little Mermaid…But that wasn’t why he knew her. Something about her eyes. It was a look he’d seen before, an expression familiar yet beyond his reach._

_Without turning around, the girl waved with two fingers, a smirk in her voice when she spoke again. “I’ll see you around…Wolf.”_

Bigby stared at Nerissa as she walked. “It was you...I never met Faith, did I?”

She looked over her shoulder again, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk. “I’ll see you around…Wolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me life force. Let me know if you liked it!! If you want to leave a comment but don't necessarily want me to respond, you can end it with a ~, and I'll appreciate your comment but respect your wishes! 💕💕 Thank you!! 😊

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!! 😊 I was wildly uncertain about how to end this, and after creating a LITERAL conspiracy board, I settled on this version! My brain is fried...so many theories...so...many...theories...I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!!! 😊
> 
> Comments and kudos are my life force! 😊💕


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